


Freefall

by FarenMaddox



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura, Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle, xxxHoLic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Tsubasa family is best family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 65,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarenMaddox/pseuds/FarenMaddox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first story for the fandom, written back in 2010, now slowly being uploaded to AO3.... This is a modern-day retelling of the Tsubasa RC/xxxHolic story, but mixing in some of the ideas/characters from Cardcaptor Sakura and Kobato.  There is no magic or monsters, just a group of people trying to help each other live with the hand that fate dealt them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THIS  
> The names of the characters have been changed. There are NO OC's in this story, there are just a lot of cameos from Kobato and Chobits—they are the original characters with names that have been changed to reflect their circumstances—namely, that they live in present-day California. Controversial decision? Maybe. But I didn't change the characters, only their names, to make the story as realistic as possible. It should be easy to figure out who they are!

_January 13th, 2010_

Lee stared down at the blank sheet of notebook paper, which had been mocking him with its emptiness for ten minutes.  He was not happy.  He didn’t want to write this essay, didn’t even know where to begin.  He looked around the room, seeking a distraction, and found the new teacher staring right back at him.  He returned his eyes to his paper and scowled while the rest of the class was happily scribbling away.  Substitute teachers really sucked.

English just had to be the class that he was alone for, the only one of the day that he didn’t share with his brother, his neighbour, or both.  If it was Sara, he could have wasted the period watching her write her essay and appreciating the shine of her hair.  If it was his brother, he would have known exactly what Lee’s problem was and would have faked an asthma attack to get them both out of it.

Instead . . .

A shadow crossed his desk, utterly clear against the bright light of the afternoon sun reflecting off the snow outside the window.  Yeah, snow.  It was all over the news today, like it was the second coming of Jesus.  He looked up to find that the substitute teacher was standing in front of him, tilting her head to see his blank paper and causing a veritable waterfall of blond hair to spill over her shoulder.  He blushed, scowled, and didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “I didn’t realize it was such a difficult subject for you.  You may choose another topic, if it’s uncomfortable.”

He shrugged, not looking up.  “It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, just . . . complicated.”

“That’s all right,” she said, her voice still kind and soft.  “I’m not really judging you on the content of your essay.  It’s only that I’m teaching your English class for several weeks, and I wanted to try to get to know all of you as quickly as I can.  The topic ‘home’ is one that I thought would help with that.  You can really write about anything, because home means something different to everybody.”

And really different, to him, Lee thought, although he didn’t say it.

She seemed to understand, somehow.  “You know what I would write about, if it were my essay?  I think home is a smell, and a feeling.  My mother used to bake bread while I was at school, and I’d come home to the smell, and she’d always have some that wasn’t finished yet.  I loved kneading the dough, working at her side, the elastic feel on my hands.  My mother died two years ago, and I’m very happy in the apartment I share with my boyfriend, but it’s only when I bake a loaf of bread that I feel absolutely at home.  So you see, your essay is very much up to you.  What you choose to write about, that’s what’s going to tell me the most about you—not the way you write it or if it’s ‘normal.’  Okay?”

Lee finally looked up at her, and smiled.  Maybe Miss Elda wasn’t so bad.  She seemed like she would be the type to accept anything he told her, graciously.  It wasn’t like anything about his home life was wrong or bad, either.  Other people tried to tell him it was, but all they were really saying was that it was different.  And different didn’t have to be wrong.  He finally started to write.

>   
>   
> _Home isn’t exactly a place for me, at least not anymore.  Home is the people who matter to me.  When my parents were alive, I probably would have described our house as “home,” but things have been very different since they died last year, and everything, including the definition of that word, has changed for me.  Technically, home is a small apartment next to the university, but it wouldn’t be if not for the people I share it with._
> 
> _Home is Caleb, who always acts grouchy but is there anytime we need him.  He pretends he doesn’t like it here, since the only reason he came to this university is that his girlfriend said they needed some time apart, but I know he secretly doesn’t mind it anymore.  He’s on his second year of a baseball scholarship.  He’ll kill you if you make fun of him for being a Gator, but part of knowing I’m home is when I find a mitt or a jersey just laying around the apartment.  I admire him for how hard he works, for himself and for the rest of us.  He never complains._
> 
> _Home is also Finn, who’s— well, Finn is Finn.  He’s special.  And by special I mean completely insane.  He’s the oldest, he’s getting his master’s degree in something or other that has to do with medieval English history, and I think he must be fluent in Old English because he starts speaking it to bug Caleb whenever Caleb gets really grouchy.  I also think he lives entirely on pudding snacks and cheap rum.  He doesn’t really sleep, either, he’s often still awake studying when we all get up in the morning.  He’s extremely loud and cheerful, whenever he’s not studying.  He might be crazy, but he’s always been really kind, too._
> 
> _I think someday home might mean my neighbour, Sara.  She’s smart and gorgeous and very kind-hearted.  She lives with her brother, Tom, who thinks I’m a bad influence on her or something.  But Tom’s boyfriend Yuri likes me, so Tom lets us stay friends.  Sara is— something to think about when I’m older, I guess, but I hope Sara means home.  If that makes any sense._
> 
> _No matter what, no matter who comes in or out of our lives, home will most of all and always be my brother Averil.  We’re twins, but we always say I must be the older brother.  I feel like I’ve been looking out for him ever since we were little kids.  He’s got a few health problems, so that’s probably why I started being really protective of him.  Last year, when our parents died, I was the one who tried to take charge to figure out what we should do.  He’s taken everything really hard, since then, so I try to look out for him as much as I can.  He’s my twin, and that makes him a part of me in a way that no one else really can be.  I wouldn’t call anyplace home, if Averil wasn’t with me._

  
The bell rang, and Lee looked down at his desk in amazement, rubbing his cramped fingers.  He’d been writing steadily ever since Miss Elda had come over to talk to him.  She was collecting papers from people while they were streaming out the classroom door, but Lee hesitated, shouldering his bag and trying to decide.  He didn’t know if he really wanted to give it to her.  She’d ask all the awkward questions that Lee usually avoided by just not talking about home.  It was hard to explain his living arrangements.  Teenaged orphan twins sharing an apartment with two slightly insane university students, next door to a gay university student and his sister . . . It was kind of hard to explain why this wasn’t as weird as it sounded, or why Lee was happy this way.  But he’d rather not take a zero for the day, so he steeled himself and marched forward to hand over the pencil-smudged page of writing.

Next was physics, which had both Averil and Sara, and definitely wouldn’t include uncomfortable essay topics.  Lee practically skipped down the hall to get to that class.  
  


* * *

 

The three teenagers were nearly home, walking side by side and chattering happily about classes and homework.  Sara was especially cheerful, since she was thrilled about the first snowfall ever in her lifetime, and Lee was happy that she was happy.  He’d been worried about her recently.  She seemed tired.  And even though she would never admit to it, she kept getting headaches.  He was learning to recognize it when she ran her fingers over her forehead, as though to wipe away the pain.

Right now, she was laughing at something Ril had said, and she was cupping a handful of snow in her hands.  Lee couldn’t stop looking at her.  It just made her more beautiful, that she didn’t know how beautiful she was.  Then something smacked Lee on the back of the head, and he turned around, spreading his arms protectively in front of Averil and Sara on either side of him.  He gasped as something very cold slithered down the back of his neck.  Snow.

“Snowball fight!” he heard a voice crow, and there was Finn, dashing down the sidewalk toward them with another snowball already held in his gloved hands.

“You scared the _crap_ out of me!” Averil hollered, but Lee had a snowball of his own packed and ready in the blink of an eye, which Finn saw.  He whooped with glee and darted backward, hiding behind Caleb.  Caleb just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back over his shoulder to glare at Finn, who was peeking his face out at Lee with a smug expression.

Lee had to admit, Caleb made a pretty good shield.  Finn was tall, but Caleb was taller, and he was all muscle and broad shoulders, too, whereas Finn was so skinny you couldn’t see him if he turned sideways.  But Lee just grinned and threw the snowball anyway, counting on Caleb to understand.  He did.  He pivoted on one leg and turned himself aside so that the projectile hit Finn right in the middle of his chest, snow sliding right into the V created by the half-buttoned blue coat he wore and cutting him off mid-giggle.

Suddenly, they were all involved, and snow was flying in every direction.  Sara was laughing and letting Lee shield her so she could throw a surprisingly wicked curveball from behind him.  Averil had no idea how to pack a snowball properly, but the shower of snow created by his throw blinded Lee long enough for Averil to tackle him and shove his back into a snowbank, shouting triumphantly.

Lee twisted under his brother and bucked him off, anxious that he should be up and gallantly defending Sara from Finn.  Caleb threw snowballs like he threw baseballs, so he probably wouldn’t target Sara at all in case he hurt her.  In fact, Caleb was pretty much only fighting with Finn, who was avoiding the possible pain by launching himself onto Caleb’s shoulders like he was about to get a piggyback ride.  Sara was just standing back and laughing, until she saw Lee back on his feet, trying to wipe the sludge from his favourite green jacket.  Then she stepped forward, a shy, sweet smile on her face that transfixed him—and shoved a handful of snow down his shirt.  He shouted in shock (not entirely unpleasant) and she ran toward the shelter of their apartment building with a peal of laughter.

He considered chasing her, but turned to help Averil get up instead, frowning with concern.  They looked so different that people often refused to believe they were brothers at all, much less twins—but no one could deny that they had grown up together, not when Lee was able to pick up on the tiniest cue Averil gave him.  One hand was dusting the snow from his black hair with seeming nonchalance, but Averil had the other hand down at his side in a fist.  There was a smile on his face, but his lips were parted oddly.

Finn looked only too eager to keep up the game, but Lee knew the language his brother was using, and quickly threw an arm over his shoulders.  “Come on, we’d better get inside and do our homework—we’ve got tons.”

Averil hated making anyone worry about him.  Although he wasn’t above faking it to help Lee with something, he never wanted anyone to know when he was having a real asthma attack.  He didn’t want to spoil Finn’s fun, but he didn’t want to asphyxiate on the slushy sidewalk, either.  So he let Lee lead him inside, where he could sit down and use his inhaler without worrying their roommates.

Well, they really did have a lot of homework, anyway.  
  


* * *

 

Finn obviously didn’t think he noticed.  It was almost enough to make Caleb punch him for stupidity.  Usually, Finn was good at hiding, those blue eyes sparkling with laughter at something only he thought was funny.  But when he thought no one was looking, he was different.

He’d been watching the twins closely enough to see the same thing Caleb saw, that Averil put his fist down to say something to Lee, and Lee had understood and pulled his brother out of their fight.  It was probably asthma, the kid was so dumb about thinking it would bother them or something.  Caleb figured he’d give the twins their privacy, make sure they didn’t think they’d ruined anyone’s fun, so he indulged Finn’s antics for a minute longer.  But Finn’s efforts to cover him in snow had immediately turned half-hearted.  The eyes that followed the movements of those boys weren’t merry anymore, they’d gone intense with a stark pain—Caleb was probably the only one who’d even believe Finn was capable of feeling _anything_ that deeply, much less pain.  But he saw it, and he knew.  Finn had lost someone as dear to him as those boys were to one another.

But he’d be mortified if he knew that Caleb knew.  He did such a good job of covering it up, most of the time.  So . . .

“I can’t believe they don’t think we notice that shit,” he grunted, brushing the snow off his clothes.

Finn snapped out of it and turned around with his trademark stunningly bright smile.  “But there’s no harm in letting them keep thinking it, right Cal?”

As always, Caleb couldn’t help but growl a protest.  He really, really hated it when Finn shortened his name.  But even that was a compromise.  When they’d first ended up sharing an apartment (and Caleb was never going to forgive the apartment manager Yvonne for engineering it), Finn had refused to call him anything but “Hot Shot” for weeks, until Caleb had snapped.  Of course, shoving his new roommate up against a wall and shouting at him just made the blond idiot laugh, so Caleb had to resort to threats against Finn’s liquor stash.  Finn had switched from “Hot Shot” to simply “Cal,” and Caleb decided that was the best he was going to get.  Finn seemed to prefer it when people found him obnoxious, and Caleb wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

At this point, Caleb thought he’d have a heart attack if Finn ever did actually refer to him by his full name.

“Come on!” Finn exclaimed.  “I’m sure you’re just as impervious to cold as you are to everything else, but I’m freezing, Tough Stuff!”

Oh. Hell. No.

He shoved a handful of snow down the back of Finn’s jacket.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled while Finn was busy squealing like a ten-year-old girl.

“At least you didn’t throw me across the room,” Finn laughed, poking him in the side.

Shit.  He’d seen Caleb thinking about that incident, somehow knew what it was Caleb had been thinking about.  And here Caleb had always considered himself the observant one.  Even though they’d been sharing an apartment for nearly thirteen months (he knew that because their lease was for thirteen months and Molly had just posted a note on their door telling them their renewal was due), Caleb still had to wonder—just who the hell _was_ this guy?

Well, whatever else he was, he knew how to cook.  Finn reserved all his energy for fancy desserts, most of the time, and let Averil do all the cooking.  But today, the two of them teamed up to deliver a beef stew to warm them back up after their snowball fight, along with fresh-baked rolls.  Averil, as usual, made enough food for their entire apartment complex to feast on.  But it was becoming obvious why he did that, since he put a bunch of leftovers into a box, shoved the box at his brother, and told Lee to take it next door.

“Next door?” Lee muttered, his face flushing.

“They never have real dinner.  You know Tom and Yuri are too busy, so they probably eat frozen waffles for every meal.”  A sigh gusted from him, and a slightly wicked smile spread over his lips when he saw Lee contemplating this.  “Poor Sara,” he finished in a sly tone.

Lee immediately stammered out that he’d be back soon, or something to that effect, and practically sprinted next door.  Finn grinned and waved a roll in Averil’s direction.

“They’re such a cute couple, aren’t they?”

Averil rolled his eyes.  “They would be if they’d admit they like one another.”

Caleb had reached his limit for time spent conversing about other people’s love lives.  He stood up.  “I have to write a paper,” he growled.

“What a coincidence, so do I!” Finn exclaimed.  Like that was news or something.  The day Finn didn’t have some kind of major project would be the day he finally got the master’s degree he was supposedly studying for.

Caleb started clearing the table, but Averil waved him off.

“I got it, I’ll take care of this.  You guys can go study.”

“You’re sure, Ril?” Finn asked, bouncing up out of his seat.

“Yeah.  It’s fine.”

“Thanks!” he said, and dashed into their living room to perch beside a massive pile of research and do something vague and historical.  Caleb had no idea what the spaz actually studied, except that he’d apparently taught himself a language that no longer existed.  Caleb had paid attention to Finn’s supposed area of expertise precisely once.  He normally didn‘t care, but that one time had been Lee‘s fault.

Lee had been interested in the legend of King Arthur for a while.  He’d asked if Finn knew anything about it.  Finn had gone pale—well, more pale—and said in a harsh voice that he didn’t study that.  He’d immediately switched back on his running-off-at-the-mouth ADHD personality, but just for that second, he’d been like a completely different person.  Caleb had been wondering ever since just why the medieval legend scared his roommate so much.  He’d never asked, because all he’d get for his trouble would be some random bullshit evasion thinly disguised as flirtation.  Not worth it.  No, he was waiting for the right moment.

Caleb made a half-hearted effort to help Averil with the dishes, let himself be persuaded otherwise, and followed Finn into the living room so he could study.  He was just taking pre-requisites, spinning his wheels.  He didn’t have a major.  He didn’t need one.  He was just here to play baseball.  He didn’t need a degree, much as the academic advisor might try to tell him otherwise.  And if baseball ever fell through, he’d move back home and become a cop, just like he’d always planned on.

He heard the running water turn off and heard Averil and Lee’s bedroom door close.  He looked at the front door, through which Lee ought to have returned by now, and chuckled.

“That kid’s got it bad for her.”

“Enough to eat dinner all over again, apparently,” Finn said with a grin.

With Caleb on their second-hand sofa with a biology textbook and Finn sprawled out across the floor with books, papers, his laptop, and who knew what else, they both became absorbed in their studies and let the twins slip from their minds.

* * *

 

Lee closed the door and sighed, feeling the need to lean on it for a moment.  There was a pleasant euphoric sensation in his head that was reminiscent of a good alcohol buzz.  Tom wasn’t home, he was working, and Yuri hadn’t bothered him and Sara at all.  Yuri was always on his side when it came to Sara.  Any time spent with Sara was good time, but it was especially good when it wasn’t at school and they could just talk.  Sara was a deeper and more intelligent person than she acted like at school.  Lee loved being the one who got to see her that way.

Caleb grunted at him.  “Just going to stand there all night?”

Finn had fallen asleep on his stomach on the floor, surrounded by a bunch of papers.  He shifted a little when Caleb spoke, but sighed and subsided, his breath blowing a chunk of messy blond hair off his cheek.

Lee just smiled at Caleb, who was scowling down at a book on his lap like it had insulted him.

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

Caleb flicked the page over.  “Whatever,” he muttered, but Lee could tell he didn’t mean it.  He was pretty sure that Caleb liked Sara, as much as one could ever be sure that Caleb liked anything.

Lee pushed himself up and toward his room, allowing that nearly narcotic buzz to continue as he walked.  He’d say goodnight to his brother, he’d ignore the homework he should be doing, and he’d lay there like the lovesick teenager he was, staring at the ceiling and thinking fuzzy Sara-thoughts.  Maybe he’d think about how the new cut of her auburn hair made her look like a pixie, or  how her tiny little hands were so expressive when she was talking, or . . .

He froze when he opened the door.  “ _Ril?_ ”  He was across the room and on his knees in a moment, the buzz in his head cut sharply by a blade of fear.  “Ril, oh, shit.”

Averil was laying in a rictus of desperation on the floor.  He had his hands clutched in the worn carpeting, his back arched up, and his eyes bulging.  A squeezing, pathetically tiny sound tore its way from his throat.  His lips were turning blue.  Lee whipped his head around and saw Averil’s inhaler only one precious foot away on the desk they’d wedged between their beds.  He snatched it up and shoved it into his brother’s mouth.

“Averil!” he shouted, getting his face right into his twin’s, so Ril could see him, would notice that help was here.  He pumped the inhaler twice, and then some more just in case.  The medicine did its job, and Lee could see the moment that oxygen started leaking its way past the shrinking constriction.  Those wide, frightened eyes suddenly lit up.  Ril’s chest arched up and he greedily sucked at the stale air like it was the purest mountain breeze.

Lee stayed there only a moment, making sure Ril was really breathing now.  His brother looked at him now, finally able to see past his fear to know who was with him.

“Are you having a panic attack?” Lee asked.

The dark head nodded just slightly.  Tears slid down his face, and though his breathing was coming easier every moment, it was shuddering in and out with no sense of control.  Now that he wasn’t writhing in agony, he was starting to shake.  Lee got his hands under Ril’s arms and dragged him onto the bed.  He sat behind his twin and held Ril to his chest.  Ril was too weak right now to sit all the way up, but laying all the way down wouldn’t help him breathe any better.  So Lee held him up, clutching him close and talking softly so Ril would hear his voice through the onslaught of fear, waiting for the crying and the trembling to stop.

And if he was shaking, too, there was no one but Ril to say anything about that.

There was a quiet knock on the open door, and Lee looked up to see Caleb and Finn standing there.  He nodded at them, and Caleb retreated, but Finn came in.  He brushed his fingers through Averil’s black hair and smiled at him.

“You’re all right now, aren’t you?” he said softly.  It was mostly a confirmation, not really a question.

Averil was calming down, now.  He nodded at Finn and turned his face away in embarrassment.  Lee looked to make sure he wasn’t hiding more breathing problems, but he seemed okay.  Then he felt those long fingers in his own hair, and turned back to Finn.

“And you’re all right, too?” the man asked.  It really was a question this time.  He nodded, feeling weary and spent, and was glad when Finn just ruffled his hair and left, instead of pressing him to talk any more.

Because it wasn’t all right, not really.  Ril was getting panic attacks more frequently than he used to, and more and more often they were bringing on really bad asthma.  If he kept getting worse . . . Lee didn’t know what he’d do.  Averil was his brother, his twin, was half of his soul in another body.  For Lee, seeing Ril like this was worse than if it had been happening to him.  There should be something he could do, right?  There had to be more he could do than just pick his twin up and sit there like a lump while Ril went through agony. 

Ril was falling asleep, exhausted now that it was over.  Lee slid off the bed and let him sleep.  He stayed up at his desk studying until Finn came in sometime in the middle of the night and turned off the lamp and pushed him into a weary stumble into his bed.  Lee was asleep almost before his head found his pillow.

* * *

 

_January 14th, 2010_

Caleb shuffled into the kitchen with his customary scowl.  Honestly, there were mornings he woke up in a perfectly acceptable mood and wore the grumpy morning persona just because his roommates would be disappointed if he didn’t.  Today, of course, the scowl matched his mood perfectly.

“Good morning,” Finn chirped at him from the table they’d crammed into the corner of the living room closest to the kitchen.  He was drinking from a mug and reading something.

“Coffee,” he muttered in response.

“Oh, Papa Bear, you’re so grouchy in the morning!”

Caleb debated throwing the full, steaming mug at the blond, then decided he didn’t want to pay for carpet cleaning.

“If you ever call me that again, I’ll shove that book down your throat,” he settled for saying.

“Okay, you’re not grouchy, then, you’re just very sleepy.  Papa Bear.”

Carpet cleaning couldn’t be that expensive, right?

“Maybe I wouldn’t be grouchy if my roommate didn’t wake up at two a.m. and then start banging around the house.  Making it impossible for anyone else to sleep.”

Finn gave him a sunny smile.  “You were so worried about me that you couldn’t sleep?  How sweet!”

“You would mistake annoyance for worry.”

“I was making Lee go to sleep,” he said with self-importance.  “Someone has to be Mama Bear around here.”

Caleb shook his head, suddenly wanting to go back to bed so he wouldn’t have to deal with this guy anymore.  “I would ask if you know what you sound like, but I think you’d be thrilled to get painted as some gay stereotype so no one would look at you any closer than that.”

Finn just grinned at him as cheerfully as ever, but his knuckles had clenched down around the handle of his coffee mug.

“I mean, are you even gay?”

“I have no idea!” Finn replied with a laugh.

“How do you not kn—”  He stopped.  Don’t even bother asking, he told himself.

Caleb debated mentioning what had woken Finn up to begin with.  Finn had been sleeping with his face buried like he always did, but he’d suddenly jerked up shouting, “Don’t touch him!”  He’d looked at Caleb, but Caleb pretended to stay asleep.  Whoever this “him” was, and why he wasn’t to be touched . . . It had nothing to do with Caleb, and it wasn’t his business to stick his nose in.  All he wanted was for Finn to admit that he had problems and stop acting like he farted rainbows.  Caleb didn’t need to know what the problems were.  He just didn’t appreciate being the recipient of all those games that Finn played to look happy and innocent.  Caleb didn’t ever bring up his own past, but he didn’t go around acting like the world was all buttercups and cream puffs, either.

“Be those kids’ freaking mother if it makes you happy,” he drawled.  “But don’t hide behind them, either.  You never went back to bed.”

“Oooo, you noticed,” Finn teased.  “You were worried about me!”

“Whatever,” Caleb growled, slamming his cup down in the sink.  “I have to get ready for school.”

Lee walked past him to get at the coffee pot, asking Finn in a mystified voice, “What’s eating him?”

“Big Daddy’s always a grump, don’t mind him,” Finn replied.

Caleb heard Lee start choking on his coffee and sighed deeply.  Looked like they’d have to get the carpet cleaned after all.  Big Daddy.  God.

* * *

Averil finished up the dishes, feeling completely wrung out.  He tried to keep himself distracted, tried to think pleasant thoughts about what he was learning in English class and how much better this new dish soap worked and anything to keep his brain occupied.  He didn’t know why he bothered, because he didn’t know if it would work, anyway.  Panic attacks weren’t exactly predictable.  He just knew he was too tired to handle another one.

He started cleaning the kitchen once the dishes were done, feeling even more tired.  He was the only one who really seemed to care about cleanliness.  It wasn’t like the other guys were slobs or anything, but he’d never really seen Caleb with a duster in his hand, either.  It was a constant battle against entropy, keeping the house clean when it was inhabited by four young males.  He wasn’t sure Finn even knew how to operate the washing machine.  Averil pretty much did all the laundry.

He was tired of it.  He knew the other guys noticed he did all the work.  Sometimes they even said thank you.  But he was tired of the way they expected it of him.  Like it was just his job or something.  He was the one who’d volunteered, obviously.  He was the one who couldn’t help with rent because his panic attacks made him too unreliable to get a job.  He had to do something to pull his own weight.  It was just that a little recognition wouldn’t go amiss.

Averil knew he was a burden on everyone.  He tried so hard not to be.  But he was.  He made life so hard on his brother, and he was practically useless around here.  Cleaning was nice, but unnecessary.  He couldn’t be cheerful and keep people’s spirits up the way Finn did.  He wasn’t exactly a rock of reliability like Caleb, either.  He wasn’t like Lee, strong without even trying.  He wasn’t any good to anyone around here, unless you were talking about who was making dinner.

Maybe Lee was the problem.  Well, it was actually the reverse.  Averil was the problem, which Lee’s very existence made clear.  Lee, who looked like their dad and shared his name.  Lee, who was determined and serious like Dad but had Mom’s compassion.  Averil was something else.  They told him he looked like some long-lost relative of Dad’s, but what did that matter?  He was excitable and impatient and awkward.  He was the cuckoo stuck in someone else’s nest.  He always had been.

“I’m home!” came a sing-song voice from outside.

Finn came waltzing in the door, looking tired but cheerful.  His trademark long blue coat was open, revealing the black slacks and white shirt that meant he’d been working.  None of them really had any idea of all the things Finn did for money, but his rent came from working at some café and charming old ladies into giving him amazing tips.  All it took was a limpid look from those baby blues and they fell all over themselves for him.  He was also a T.A. in the history department, apparently.

Finn really was great, even if he was psychotic.  Just a few weeks ago, on the first anniversary of the death of his and Lee’s parents, when Caleb was trying to leave them alone and let them feel sad, Finn had made a sign for the front door that said “Orphans Only.”  Surprisingly, it made them feel better.

Of course, he wasn’t really known for leaving well enough alone.  He’d thoughtfully made another sign to put on their neighbour’s door.  Which Tom had torn down, hollering about insensitivity, not to mention that his father was alive, albeit absent.  It did, at least, answer one question about Finn’s past, though it raised a few about Tom’s and Sara’s.

They’d already known about Caleb’s parents being dead because Lee had accidentally picked up one of Caleb’s books and a newspaper clipping fell out that had his father’s obituary on it.  Police officer, killed in the line of duty.  Lee had apologized about twenty times, but Caleb just shrugged and said his mother was also dead, she’d been sick or something, and that he didn’t care if they knew.  Nobody had brought it up again.  None of them were real big on talking about anything that had happened before they’d started sharing this apartment.  Just knowing that Finn’s parents were dead was a big deal.

“Hey,” he heard Caleb saying gruffly.  “Averil.  You okay?”

He blinked up at the other man, coming up out of his daze, and nodded.  Finn shoved his way past the bigger man and went to the fridge, waving off Averil’s offer of leftovers in favour of swiping some juice and drinking directly from the carton.  He was clearly the oldest of them, but he acted like such a little kid.  Funny how Caleb, who was barely old enough to buy his own alcohol, was the adult around here.  Mostly.  When he wasn’t yelling at Finn for being uncivilized and not using a glass, and getting all annoyed by one of Finn’s nicknames.  Averil himself was forgotten (as usual), and he slid past them out of the small kitchen to go to his room.

Lee wasn’t there.  Oh, right—he’d gone next door with dinner for Sara and Tom again.  He’d be a good hour, unless Tom was being all brotherly and trying to chase the juvenile delinquent away from his sister.  Averil was glad that Lee had Sara.  She was good for him.  She gave him someone to care about who didn’t need anything from him.  She actually gave something back.  Unlike Averil.

He sat down at the desk to try to study, but he felt tears slipping out.  He didn’t know why he was crying.  He’d been miserable all the time, lately.  It didn’t make any sense for him to feel that way.  His parents were dead, sure.  But he and Lee had found a place to live, and Lee wasn’t in trouble anymore, and school was going fine.  He should be happy, right?  Instead he was having panic attacks all the time and making problems for people and doing nothing worthwhile for them.

He couldn’t study right now.  He could barely breathe.  And if he thought about the tightness in his chest, it would get worse, and that would be bad.  It wasn’t fair.  What cosmic power picked him out to suddenly not be able to breathe, all the time?  It sucked.  What had he ever done to deserve it?

 _Lost_ , the word came to him as he tried to bury his head in his arms.  He was lost.  He didn’t know where he was, who he was . . . He didn’t know why.  He didn’t know why anything was the way it was, or what he was supposed to do with it.  He just felt lost, all the time.  He didn’t hate it here, or anything like that.  He just knew that he didn’t fit in with them.  He couldn’t joke around with the two older guys, and he weighed his own brother down unforgivably.  He had no ideas about his future or about what he wanted.  He didn’t make any sense to himself.

He didn’t fit here.  Just like it had been in his own family.  He was . . . not like Mom and Dad and Lee, and not like Finn and Caleb, either.  How stupid was it, that he only knew what he was _not_?  He didn’t feel unloved.  He knew better than to think that, not after what Lee had done for his sake since Mom and Dad died.  Even his roommates seemed to like him well enough.  But he never could get in a word edgewise, it seemed like.  Not unloved.  Just forgotten.

He decided to go get a glass of water and try to calm the hell down.  He wasn’t doing anyone any good, acting like this.

He heard Finn and Caleb having an honest-to-God serious conversation in the kitchen, and he stood there in his doorway, listening.  It was unusual to hear them talking in normal voices, instead of teasing and almost-flirting and pretend irritation that turned into real irritation.  He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he did.

“. . . rough on him, you know?  He’s just a kid, got his first crush and all, but he’s got all this shit to deal with, when it comes to Averil.”

“Yeah.  It’s not like Lee would ever think that Ril was a burden or something, though.”

“Even if he is?”

“Lee doesn’t see it that way.  Trust me.  Ril is his twin brother, and no matter how difficult it gets, he’ll still want to take care of him.”

“Yeah.  I figured.  The kid needs to be able to take care of himself, though.”

“Ril, you mean?”

“Yeah.  He’s got to learn to stand up for himself, to take care of himself.  I know he took their parents dying harder than Lee did, but still . . .”

Averil stumbled backward, trying to breathe.  The tightness in his chest wasn’t asthma, and it wasn’t panic.  It was horror.  Pure horror.  Was that what they really thought of him?  That he was weak, that he was a burden . . . That he was everything he’d been assuming about himself?  If even the cheery and crazy Finn could see it—

He shook his head violently.  He had to get out of here.  That was all, that was really all there was to it.  He loved Lee too much to keep holding him back like this.  He really liked Finn and Caleb, too, and to find out that they thought he was weak, that he was in the way . . .

He picked up his inhaler and put it in his pocket.  He grabbed the framed photograph of him and his twin with their parents.  He rifled through the desk, and triumphantly withdrew the papers that declared him an emancipated minor.  He and Lee both were.  The court had wanted to put them in foster care, but they were already living with Caleb and Finn by then, and they’d been able to get emancipated instead.  Averil was legally considered an adult, according to these papers, and he shoved them into his bookbag with the photograph and a book of recipes he’d been creating.

In the kitchen, Caleb was frowning.  “You hear that?”

“Do you think Ril heard us?”

“No, the door’s shut,” Caleb reported, peering around the corner.  “He’s not the eavesdropping type.”

“Well.  How do you want to bring it up?”

“Let’s just do it,” Caleb said impatiently.  “When Lee comes back, just sit down and say it.  We think Ril should see a counselor for a while.”

“We have to make sure he knows that we don’t blame him.  I don’t want him to think it’s his fault.  It’s not shameful for him to need this.”

In the bedroom, no longer able to hear, Averil tore a page from a spiral notebook he used for class notes.

“And you really need to take your own advice,” Caleb snorted.

“What do you mean, Big Daddy?” Finn crooned.

Averil started writing.

“Don’t call me that, you moron.  I’m talking about you, going to see someone.”

“See someone?  Only if it makes you jealous, Cal.”

“Yeah, whatever.  If it’s nothing for Averil to be ashamed of . . .”

“Enough,” Finn said sharply.  “This isn’t about me.”

Averil folded the page in half and wrote his brother’s name on it.

“Fine.  We’ll talk to them when Lee comes back, then.”

Finn went to the bathroom and stayed there for a while. Caleb decided he was in there sulking, and he went to their room and fumed to himself for a few minutes.  They didn’t hear the other bedroom door open and close, nor the front door.  They didn’t know.  Not until Lee came home.

* * *

Lee shut the door and leaned against it, but it was far different from yesterday.  This was the front door to Tom and Sara’s place, and he could hear Tom and Yuri’s argument through the white-painted wood.  He knew Sara was crying, and he wanted to be in there with her, helping her.  But the mere sight of him was putting Tom in a homicidal state, and Yuri had told him he’d better go.

Those bruises on Sara’s arms.  They scared him.  That was what Tom didn’t get, the thing that had Lee just as angry with her brother as her brother was with him.  He was just as scared as Tom was, to see the bruises on Sara’s skin.  It didn’t help that Tom had gotten in his face and accused him of putting them on her.  Yuri had been quick to jump to Lee’s defense—like hell Lee would ever hurt _any_ girl, much less Sara.  But then Sara said she thought they might have come from the snowball fight, and Tom was ready to take the injuries out of someone’s hide.  He’d try to take on Caleb, in this state, if he had to.

“You have to take her to the doctor, Tom!” he heard Yuri saying.

“And have the doctor call the cops, thinking I did it?  No way!  They’d try to take her guardianship away from me.”

“It’s too important not to look into, and you know it.”

“The only thing I know is that whichever of those goddamn thugs next door hurt her—”

“Tom,” Yuri interrupted, his voice suddenly softer.  “You know that no one, not even Caleb, could throw a snowball hard enough to leave bruises like that.”

“Yeah, but it happened.”

“And that means it has an explanation.  Which she needs to see a doctor to discover.  Think about it.  She’s been tired all the time, she keeps saying she has a headache, and now she’s turning up with bruises that have no cause?  She needs to go now, Tom.  You remember what happened when I didn’t want to see a doctor?  In case you don’t, I’ll remind you: it was bad, and I almost died.  If you won’t take her, I will.”

Lee heard Tom try to say something, but he gave upon it, and the conversation ceased.  Lee finally pushed himself away from the door, feeling sick.  He entered his own apartment, making a beeline for his room.  He had to talk to his brother.  He needed to get this fear off his chest, explain what was going on.  Something might be wrong with Sara, and he had to get past Tom’s anger so that he could be there for her.  Because he wanted to be there.  Sara would need him.  He didn’t know what she saw in him, he really didn’t, but he’d do anything to be worth her regard.

“Hey, Ril,” he said, feeling almost shy as he came in.  He had to tell his brother.  He had to tell Ril that he was falling in love with Sara and that he’d do anything to help her if she was sick.  “Are you— what?”

Ril wasn’t there.  He hadn’t been in the common area, and Lee couldn’t think of a reason that he’d be in Finn and Caleb’s room.  Lee looked around sharply.  Something was missing.

There.  It was usually right there.  The picture of their family.  It was gone.

His eyes fell on the piece of paper on the desk.  It was a sheet of notebook paper, folded it half.  It said _Lee_ on it.  He snatched it up.  He heard someone walking up behind him, but he was too busy trying to breathe to care.

“I know I’ve been a burden on you.  I’m sorry.  I’m going someplace where I won’t be getting in your way anymore.  Don’t worry about me, I have a plan.  Don’t—”  He choked.  He dropped the paper.

Finn knelt down, picked it up, finished it.  “Don’t look for me,” he said softly.

Caleb snarled something unintelligible and punched a hole in the wall.  Lee would have, but he was too busy going to his knees.

“No.  No, no, no . . .”  Finn’s hand was on his shoulder, and he hung his head so the other guys couldn’t see him start to cry.  “No.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see a graphic illustration/short manga for the scene of the snowball fight, please visit konnichupuu.deviantart.com, where you can see not only this illustration but many wonderful pieces of fanart and original work by a talented, lovely person!


	2. Chapter 2

_January 15th_

“How’s Zack doing?” Yvonne asked, crossing her legs and picking up her teacup.

Harold chuckled when he noticed.  He had no idea where Yvonne had picked up this sexpot act, but she apparently couldn’t even turn it off to have a cup of tea with her elderly neighbour.  He’d _noticed_ she had great legs, sure, but he didn’t care, what with having one foot in the grave and all.  He lit up a cigarette and ignored his own tea.

“Kid’s great, so far as I know.  Good grades, popular, the whole package.”

“He doesn’t look that happy,” Yvonne said, observing the boy in question through the window.  He was shoveling snow out of the driveway.

Harold rolled his eyes.  “He doesn’t look like anything, ever.  I have no idea where he got the idea that he’s not allowed to smile, but I’ve certainly never seen him do it.  I dare you to ask him how he feels.  Dragging an admission of feelings out of him is like pulling teeth.”

“Maybe he secretly hates good grades and popularity.”

“I think he’s just a stoic.  He could break his leg and he’d walk on it for five miles just to prove that people make too much of it.  He‘s always been that way.  Here, I’ll show you what Zack looks like when he’s happy.”  Harold drew on his cigarette and gave Yvonne a bored, almost sleepy, expression.  “And here’s angry.”  He didn’t change the bored expression in the slightest.  “This is Zack when he’s heartbroken.”  Same face.  “Scared to death.”

By now, Yvonne was laughing so hard she had to put her cup down.

“Wait, wait, you haven’t seen overjoyed or crippling pain yet!”

“Maybe it’s part of the appeal.  You told me the ladies flock to him.”

Harold blew a practiced smoke ring and shook his head.  “He’s a great kid.  I think he’s just bored, or something.  Needs a challenge in his life.  Probably why he took up archery, so he could deal with an impossible sport and deal with getting mercilessly teased because people think it’s wimpy.  Although it’s kind of hard to mock someone who just looks at you like this.”  He did a repeat of Zack’s heavy-lidded expression.

“Not the sort of challenge a boy like Zack needs, is it?” Yvonne murmured, sipping her tea.  Harold offered a smoke to Yvonne, and she took it with pleasure.  Just to be polite, though.  “Do you worry about him?”

“What do you think?”

She just smiled at him, curving her lips around the cigarette so she could laugh at the way he noticed it and dismissed it without caring.  It was refreshing, being around Harold.

“All the time,” Harold sighed, finally drinking his tea.

Her eyes trailed over Harold’s grandson again, assessing him while he shoveled.  She’d been living in the attachment to her antique store for years, and she didn’t think Zack had changed in the slightest from the day he’d come to live with his grandfather, years ago.  He was the sort of guy you saw playing the hero in disaster movies—good-looking, so strong and stable that he could handle whatever act of God was destroying his town, and he’d get the girl in the process.

No acts of God around here, though.  Just a bunch of quiet neighbours and a tiny kindergarten that was run by two women so nice that it made Yvonne a little nauseous.  Nothing exciting ever happened in this neighbourhood.

They heard tires squealing, and they looked out just in time to see a car go speeding up the street, swerving and accelerating like the driver was in the midst of sudden panic.  In the drive, Zack was dropping his shovel and running in the direction the car had come from.

Yvonne and Harold leapt up, both of them tossing their half-smoked cigarettes into their cups of tea almost simultaneously.  They both chased after Zack, and found him at the corner of the street, kneeling in the slush at the side of the road.  There was someone laying on the ground.

“Did that car hit him?” Harold shouted as he ran.

“Yes,” Zack replied calmly, his hand on the neck of the still person in front of him, searching for a pulse.

“Idiot!” Yvonne snapped at the long-disappeared car.  “What are you doing, driving like that when you’re in front of a school?”

Zack was moving aside so Harold could kneel down and examine the boy, who seemed no older than Zack.  Zack slowly stood up, leaving it to his grandfather.  Harold was retired, now, but he’d been a trauma surgeon in the hospital for almost thirty years.  Harold joked on the day he retired that he was now the most qualified bystander around.  And here he was, like it was fate or something.  Yvonne was a big believer in fate.

“It wasn’t their fault,” Zack said, still calm.  His eyes fell on something dark, laying on the sidewalk, and he bent to retrieve it.  “The kid walked right out in front of the car.”  It was a messenger bag, the sort of thing boys carried schoolbooks in if they didn’t use a backpack.  “Like he meant to.”  He peered inside.

“As in, trying to commit suicide?” Harold asked, looking up from his calm but hurried inspection.

Zack grunted, nodded.  “Probably.”

“That was selfish,” Yvonne said soberly, looking up the street again with a different feeling.  “To lay the blame for his death on someone else like that.”

There was respect in Zack’s eyes when he looked up at her from his perusal of the messenger bag.  But he just grunted again.

“Selfish, heh.  More like foolish,” Harold said with a wry look on his face.  “Boy’s not even close to dead.  He’s probably fine.  Knocked his head, but not too bad.”  He started gently patting the cheeks of the dark-haired boy.  “Hey.  Hey, kid.  Wake up.”

Surprisingly, the boy’s eyes opened, revealing them to be blue.  Yvonne finally walked close enough to get a look at the boy, and she barely held back her exclamation of surprise.

It was Averil.

She didn’t often take that much interest in the residents of the apartment building she owned.  She let her niece Molly handle most of it.  Molly might be excitable and childlike, but she was a pretty good judge of character.  Thirteen months ago, Yvonne’s belief in fate had led her to take an interest in two college students struggling to make rent, and she’d very cleverly engineered for them to sign their lease without actually meeting one another first.  Then a few months after that, she’d taken interest again, because Finn and Caleb had picked up a couple of strays.  Lee and Averil met with her, showed her the court papers that let them make their own decisions, and Yvonne had felt the stirring of fate again and agreed to let them move in with the older two boys.

Averil was unhappy.  She’d known it.  It had been written into his posture, the tone of his voice.  Molly had noticed it, too.  But for Averil to do something like this . . .

“What the hell did you think you were doing, boy?” she heard Harold say in a scolding tone.  She focused.

Averil was blinking painfully, squinting.  “Where am I?”

“You’re in the middle of the street.”

“Why?”

“You just got hit by a car.”  Harold paused, frowned.  “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Averil said in a dreamy tone.  “Was it my fault?”

No one said anything.

“I don’t know how I got here,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position even though Harold was sternly telling him to keep his ass still until Harold was sure he was okay.  “I don’t . . . remember.  Anything.”  His eyes were getting wider and wider, which would reveal to anyone who paid attention that only one of his eyes was truly blue, while the other was a pale, almost grayish colour.  “Wait.  Oh, god.  I don’t know why I’m here.  I don’t know where I came from.  Oh my god.  I just . . . I can’t remember.”  He looked up in complete panic, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and his eyes met Zack’s, for some reason.  Zack still looked ridiculously calm.  “I don’t remember my name,” he whimpered.  Then he passed out.

“His name is Averil,” Zack said in the moment of quiet shock.  “At least that’s what he wrote on the notebook in his bag.”  He knelt down, speaking calmly.  “We know his neck and back aren’t broken, right?” he asked his grandfather.  “He’s soaking wet, though.  We need to get his clothes changed and warm him up.  I’ll take him inside.”  He picked the other boy up like a child, with an arm under his back and one behind his knees.  If Averil was heavy, he gave no sign of it.  “Memory loss is probably just temporary, right?”

He started trudging back to the house.  Harold grimaced at Yvonne.  “I was going to show you Zack’s panicked face, but I guess you’ve seen it now.”

Yvonne stared after the two boys, and she made her decision.  Fate was screaming at her to keep her mouth shut, and that was what she would do.  
  


* * *

  
  
When he woke up, he was more confused than he had been when he’d passed out.  He still didn’t know where he was.  But he knew that he was far warmer.  He was laying in someone else’s bed, wearing someone else’s  clothes . . . Well.  Who knew?  Maybe it was his bed, his clothes.  He tried to think.  Tried to remember.  But when he tried to reach his mind back, he heard tires squeal and his brain felt the jolt of being flung into the air by the hood of a car.  He stopped there, didn’t try anymore.

Because . . . 

If it was so hard to remember, maybe it was better if he didn’t.

If it hurt so much to try, maybe it would hurt more to succeed.

If something was blocking his way back, maybe it was supposed to be there.

He didn’t know.  He couldn’t know.  The memories lingered there, tantalizing him with how close they were and how untouchable.  He didn’t know whether it was better to remember or to forget.  What he did know was that he was afraid.  He didn’t remember anything about himself, and he didn’t know where he was.  If he didn’t know himself, then how was he to know what he should do?  The past was blank and that made the future blank as well.  How could he help but be afraid?

What would he do?  Where would he go?

He didn’t know.

He couldn’t breathe.

He felt his fingers clutching at the blanket that had been carefully laid over him.  His throat felt tight, swollen.  His lungs were begging him to breathe more deeply.  He tried.  He heard air whistling in his strangled throat.  Tears pricked his eyes.  His lungs began to burn.  He knew what he needed, but he didn’t know how to get it.  He stumbled to his feet, wincing at the sensation of sharp pain, his hand clutching low on his left side.

His pocket.  There was an inhaler in the pocket of his pants.  But he was wearing a pair of sweatpants now, and no matter how warm they were, they didn’t have what he needed.  Where were his damned _pants_?

He tripped over something, fell forward, and clutched at the chair in front of the desk.  He sat down in it heavily, looking to see that he’d tripped over—an arrow?  What the hell?

“Hello?” he coughed.  _Please, please, someone hear me . . ._

The bedroom door opened, and a teenager calmly entered the room and walked right past his struggles, reaching behind him to get to the desk.  The stranger opened the top drawer, extracted the inhaler, and held it out wordlessly.  He snatched it up like the lifesaver it was, but he found his hands shook so badly that he couldn’t hold it.  It fell to the floor, and he dropped his head down onto the desk with a moan.

There was a hand on his shoulder, pushing him backward.  He looked up, but the dark-haired boy said nothing, simply kept pushing at him until he was leaning against the back of the chair.  He held up the inhaler again, but this time he didn’t give it to him.  The other boy put one hand on the back of his head, pressed the inhaler to his lips, and pushed down to release the medicine.

He sucked it in, held it, let it work.  He could feel his heart racing with its fear, but he managed to clench his hands into the borrowed pants to put a stop to the shaking.  He had the sense that this was normal for him.  That this was only the beginning, that it would get worse and that he would wind up in a quaking, crying heap on the floor and that he hated himself for it.

The boy’s perpetually sleepy eyes gave him a once-over.  “Can you breathe?”

“Yeah,” he whimpered, nodding too frantically to be convincing.

“Then why are you acting so scared?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, here.”  The boy reached into the drawer again and retrieved a pair of eyeglasses, which he handed over.  “My grandfather found these on the sidewalk.  They yours?”

“Yes,” he said in relief, putting them on and wishing they made him feel better.  They didn’t.

“Hey,” the stranger said, his voice sounding almost bored.  He suddenly reached out and smacked him on the shoulder.  “Knock it off.”

He froze in shock, staring at the other boy.

“You’re not dying, you know.  My grandfather says you have a knot on the back of your head and you maybe bruised a couple of your ribs.  You don’t even need to go to the doctor, unless you want to.”

He shook his head violently, and could feel with enormous relief that his panic was subsiding—surprised right out of him by the blow to his arm.  “No, I don’t want to go.  But—well, is your grandfather a doctor?”

“Retired, yeah.  Hey.  Your foot is bleeding.”

“Oh, crap,” he yelped, yanking his foot off the floor and grimacing at the blood staining the carpet.  “I’m sorry.  Wait, no I’m not.”  He scowled.  “My foot is bleeding because I stepped on a freaking arrow.  Why do you have arrows on your freaking FLOOR?”

The boy’s heavy-lidded eyes swept to the floor, and his eyebrows raised the tiniest fraction.  “I must have knocked them over when I put you on the bed.”  He bent down and collected the arrows on the floor, returning them to a quiver of black leather which he leaned against the wall between the bed and the desk.  “Sorry.”

“Is it bad?”  He didn’t want to look.  “Am I going to bleed to death?”

The boy just looked at him, apparently trying to convey that he was an idiot without wasting words.  “I’ll go get my grandfather to wrap it up for you.”

“Wait!”

The boy stopped and looked at him.

"What . . . Where am I?”

“At my house.”

“But I . . . I seem to remember . . . I got hit by a car?”

“Yeah.  You still don’t remember anything?”

“No.”

“Do you remember who you are?”

“No.”  He could feel his breath coming short again.

“Hey.  Quit it.  It’s fine.”

“How is this fine?” he squawked.  “How are you so damn calm about it?”

“We’ll figure it out.  Your name’s Averil, anyway.  Averil Reed.  It’s written on the front of the notebook that was in your bag.”

“Why were you going through my stuff?”

“To figure out your name.  There’s some other stuff in the bag, but I didn’t look at it.  Yet.  Now stay still and keep your foot elevated.”

“I know that!” he snapped, reflexively pulling his foot up higher.

“I’m Zack, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“My name.  It’s Zack Williams.  My grandfather’s name is Harold.  Also Williams.  In case you care.”

The other teenager left, presumably to retrieve Grandfather Harold-Also-Williams.

“What a bastard,” he muttered.  He did put his bleeding foot up on the desk, and glared at the arrows beside him.  “Who keeps arrows in their bedroom, anyway?”

But what did it matter, really?  Even if he was a bastard, and weird on top of it, this Zack Williams had done a lot for him.  Plucked him out of the snow, allowed him to sleep in his bed, and then he’d walked in here and possibly saved his life without batting an eyelash.  Not to mention that he’d cured him of an impending panic attack just by hitting him.  And that he’d given him a name.

“Averil.  My name is Averil?  Are—were—my parents crazy?  I think they’re dead . . .”

An older gentleman who looked almost eerily like the teenager, except the white hair, entered the room.  He, at least, appeared to possess the ability to smile, which he was employing.

“Well, well, our patient is awake.  Looks like you’re just accident-prone, aren’t you, boy?”

“I wouldn’t be stepping on arrows if people didn’t leave them on the floor,” he snapped.  He also wouldn’t be breathing if “people” hadn’t noticed the inhaler and put it nearby.  Dammit.  He didn’t even like the kid, why did the guy have to go and do something so important?  The only person who’d ever done that for Averil before was . . .

_Someone.  I don’t know.  Someone._

“Your foot’s fine, kiddo.  That’s Zack for you.  He might act cool as a cucumber, but he saw you were bleeding and freaked.”

“ _That’s_ what freaked looks like?”

Harold winked at him.  “You normally slap a bandaid on something like this.  You don’t usually call a trauma surgeon.”

“Oh, wow.  He said you were a doctor, but— oh, hey, bandaid.  Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Harold said, smoothing the edges down and making him squirm.  Apparently he had ticklish feet.  “I was happy to take a look, anyway.  We were both worried about you, after that knock on the noggin.  Your brain still feels a little scrambled, huh?  I’ll bet you don’t remember the car accident.  But everything else is coming back to you?”

“Uh, no,” he mumbled, looking down.

“No?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be apologizing.  But do talk to me.  Let’s figure this out.  You didn’t hit your head that hard.  You shouldn’t be experiencing deep memory loss.  You know your name, where you live, any of that?”

“Zack just told me my name.  And I know I’ve got asthma.  I think maybe I have some kind of attack, pretty regularly.  Like anxiety.  But when I try to remember—it sort of hurts.”

“Hurts how?”

“I don’t know how to explain, really.  It hurts my brain.  I do remember the accident, at least the part where I flipped off the hood of the car.  I don’t know how I got there, though.  I mean, what I was doing walking down this street.  I . . . I think I . . . might have . . .”  He dropped his head low, so Harold couldn’t see him.  “I think I walked in front of the car,” he whispered.  There.  It was out in the open now.

“Zack saw the whole thing.  He said you did.”  There was a hand on his shoulder that he supposed was to soften the blow of those words.  “But that’s okay.  We can figure that part out, too.”

“Maybe it’s better if I don’t remember,” he muttered.  “Maybe I had a reason to do that, and if I knew what it was . . .”

“Well, we don’t want that, now, do we?” Harold asked, sounding almost jovial.  He shook his shoulder.  “Averil, isn’t it?  Why don’t we focus on the things we can do something about?  I need you to look me in the eyes so I can test your vision and settle my mind about a concussion.  I thought you took a pretty hard hit to the side, too.  You might have bruised your ribs, but I don’t think any of them are broken.  How do they feel?”

“They hurt,” he shrugged.  “But there’s nothing really to do about that, is there?”

“Personally, I think good whiskey cures all ills, but for you I’d recommend some extra-strength Tylenol and a break from heavy lifting.  And once I check your vision, more sleep might be a good idea.  Look at my finger.  Keep looking.  Follow it with your eyes.  Uh—”  He faltered suddenly.

“What?”

“One of your eyes is, um, blind.”

“I think that’s normal,” Averil said, gasping at the pain it caused his head to think about that.     

“Well, follow my finger with your good eye.  Okay.  Good.  Are you hungry?  We haven’t started dinner yet.  Now straight up, that’s perfect.  Well?  Do you want something to eat?”

Averil broke his gaze on Harold’s forefinger.  “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” he gestured around the room.  “Putting me in his bed and checking up on me and offering me dinner.  Shouldn’t you call someone?  The police or something?  I don’t really know the protocol for something like this.”

“Boy, I’m not so sure there is a protocol for what happens when a suicidal amnesiac gets hit by a car in front of your house.  That’s why I’m making it up as I go.  I like you, so far.  We’ll see how things go from there.  I’m not going to call the police and get you in trouble, not when it might turn out that you’re a nice kid who doesn’t deserve trouble.  Besides, Zack would kill me if I shoved you back out on the street right now.”

“He would?”

“You’ve been unconscious for hours, boy.  He’s been rousing you every twenty minutes without fail, in case you had a concussion.  Sitting right there in the chair you’re currently occupying.  I tried to take a turn, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Why?”

“Who knows why in hell my grandson does anything?  My best guess is he didn’t like seeing you get hit by that car and he’s trying to fix it.”  He fixed a very sharp gaze on Averil.  “I’ve never seen Zack take such an interest in anyone before now.  He’s a stubborn kid, though, very stubborn.  It isn’t going to matter much to him if you want to be fixed up or not.  He’s going to do it anyway.  Might as well just let him.”

Harold retreated, leaving Averil with dizzying thoughts.  Or maybe he was just dizzy.  He had hit his head, after all.

This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him, of that he was sure.  He didn’t know what he was comparing it to, but he knew this was an odd encounter.  What kind of person would just pick up a stranger and give him his clothes?  Then keep vigil for hours, not even knowing . . .?  It was weird, Averil concluded.  He didn’t trust Zack.  Not one bit.

* * *

  
Averil slowly shuffled to the bedroom door, feeling groggy and uncertain of himself.  He’d been asleep for quite a while, he knew.  He hadn’t bothered to eat, he’d just fallen back asleep once his foot was bandaged.  He didn’t know if it was late, early, or anything else.  He also didn’t know if it was okay for him to leave Zack’s room.  The Williams had been awfully nice to him so far, but that didn’t mean they wanted him wandering around their house.  But he really had to use the bathroom and he was starving.  But, no . . .

 . . . Okay, that was weird.  He had this idea that he knew what it was like to actually be starving.  He wasn’t sure why.  Right now, he was just hungry.  And also disturbed by the implication that he’d gone through a period in his life where he hadn’t had any food.  Had his family been poor?

Again, he felt the jolt of impact, and his brain shied away from trying to remember his family.  He found the bathroom and used it.  He kept going, out of the hallway, wondering where he was heading.  He found himself in their living room, and he realized that it really was the middle of the night.  It was dark out and the lights were off.  Despite that, he saw that there was something large on the sofa.

“Hey.”

Averil jumped in shock and bit down on a high-pitched squeal.  “God, don’t _do_ that!”

Zack sat up, pushing away the blanket he’d been laying under.  “You okay?”

“Yes, no thanks to my heart attack.  I, um, just woke up and I didn’t know what to do . . .”

“We didn’t know if you’d sleep through the night or not.  Sorry.”

Averil wanted to apologize for making Zack sleep on the sofa, but unable to force such humble words out of his mouth when the unfeeling jerk was looking at him like that.

“Are you hungry?  You missed dinner.”

“No.  I’m fine.  Go back to sleep.”

Zack stood up.  “Don’t be stupid.  I’m not going to sleep if you’re sitting in the other room, listening to your stomach growl all night.”  He walked through the doorway into the next room.

Again with the illogical self-sacrifice.  What was with this guy?  Averil followed him and found himself in the kitchen.  Zack was standing in front of their pantry with a sort of grimace on his face.  Averil peered over his shoulder and wondered what he was so upset about.  Granted, there wasn’t anything particularly fancy in there, but all the staples appeared to be well-stocked.

“Uh . . . We don’t really cook.  We eat out a lot.”

“Right.  Why do you have all that stuff if you don’t use it?”

“In case we do use it, I guess,” Zack mumbled.  He moved to the fridge, stared at it for a moment, then gestured at it with his hand.  “Help yourself.”

Averil snorted and began taking inventory.  “You don’t know anything about cooking, do you?”

“I know how to cook.  It just doesn’t taste that good when I do it.”

Averil snorted at that.  “I’m fine, by the way.  You can go back to sleep.  In fact, go back to your bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“No.  We don’t make guests sleep on the couch.”

“I’m not even a guest!” he snapped, with maybe just a touch of bitterness.  “I’m . . . I don’t know what I am, so nevermind.”

Zack just looked at him for a moment, then turned around again.  “Let me know if you need something,” he said by way of parting, and Averil heard him lay down on the sofa again.

Damn him, the bastard, going and making Averil feel even more guilty for being here than he did already.  He’d leave tomorrow, he decided.  Leave with a limp from the stupid arrow, and with a rather limited range of motion due to his bruised ribs, and with no memory for reasons unknown.  God.  Where was he supposed to go?  All he knew was that he wasn’t going to mooch off the kindness of strangers.  He was going.

He looked down at the sandwich he’d slapped together.  Just stared at it for a while.  Then he threw it away and went back to bed.  
  


* * *

  
_January 16th_

Harold woke early because something smelled wonderful.  He couldn’t put a finger on what the good smell was, but it registered that he ought to wake up and seek out the source of the aroma.  It was while he was tying his robe over his pajamas that he remembered their odd houseguest.  Maybe Zack was actually making an honest-to-God breakfast so that the other kid could eat?

Harold didn’t run, because dignified old men don’t run in their own house, but he sure did motor down the hall.  He was insanely curious about the idea of Zack cooking breakfast.  When he got to the kitchen, he stopped in surprise.  The other kid was cooking.

“Oh, um, good morning,” the kid stammered when he saw Harold.  “I, uh, wanted to do something.  To say thanks for everything.  Zack said you don’t eat at home much.  I just thought . . . well, it’s waffles.”

“I don’t have a mix for those,” Harold said cautiously.

“I didn’t think so.”

“You made them from scratch?”

“They’re good,” he heard his grandson say, and he peered around the wall of the kitchen to find that Zack was sitting next door in the dining room with a plate of waffles already half-devoured.  Zack, never the most verbose of fellows, didn’t say anything else.  Then again, he didn’t have to.  Harold knew the boy pretty well, by now, and he knew Zack wouldn’t be plowing through the food if he didn’t like it.  He was a finicky eater, and he’d rather go hungry than eat something he didn’t like.

“Any for me?” Harold asked cheerfully.

“Of course!” Averil said, sounding almost cheerful.  “You’re the one who tended to me, after all.  You get the best ones!”

“In that case, you’d better give the good ones to Zack,” Harold said in a lazy drawl, eyeing the food like it was manna from heaven.  “He’s been taking better care of you than I have.”

Averil started muttering something under his breath and jabbing with his spatula, but Harold just chuckled and accepted a plate from him.

“You sure you’re feeling okay, that you’re up to this?  You had a pretty rough day yesterday.”

“I feel fine,” Averil said with a shrug.  “Minus the memory loss.”

Harold frowned deeply.  That had him worried.  “About that . . . I think we’d better take you in to the hospital today.  I want you to have a CAT scan.”

“What?  Why?”

“You shouldn’t have memory loss on this scale, not when your head injury was so minor.  I could be missing some deeper injury, and that would be very dangerous.  If there’s something going wrong in your brain, we need to know as soon as possible.”

Averil whirled around with his fists clenched.  “Obviously there’s something wrong in my brain!” he snapped.  “At some point yesterday, my brain decided I should die and I walked into traffic!  I don’t _want_ to remember why I did that!”

Harold was glad to hear him say that, even if it did make things more complicated.  It meant that he was right, that it wasn’t a traumatic head injury.  That Averil was, physically speaking, more or less okay.  But that meant something a little more difficult to deal with.

“I thought the memory loss might be voluntary.”

“Huh?”

“Kiddo, you just said it yourself.  You don’t want to remember.  You forced yourself to forget who you are, God knows why, so you probably don’t really need a CAT scan.  It’s not common, but I’ve heard of this before.  You deliberately locked away your memory.  You could remember if you want to.  It’s all still in there.  You just aren’t allowing yourself access.”

Averil was breathing way too deeply.  “I guess I already knew I was screwed up,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you go sit down?  I’ll get these off the iron when they’re done.”

“No, don’t worry about it.  About me.  I’ll take care of the dishes, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“What?”

“I wanted to do something to thank you for letting me stay here last night.  But once I find my own clothes, I’ll go.  I know you weren’t exactly asking for trouble, and I’m nothing if not a pain in the ass.  Sorry I disrupted things for you, but I’ll leave and you can get back to your regularly scheduled life.”

Harold stared at him.  “Where are you planning to go?”

"Hadn’t figured that out yet,” Averil said with stiff dignity.  “I’m working on it.”

"Idiot,” Zack snorted, walking past the boy to put his plate in the sink.

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re an idiot.  You’re not leaving.”

Averil just gaped at Zack for a minute, then turned to Harold, who shrugged.  He couldn’t help the little smirk on his face.  He should have known to expect that from Zack.

“Like you said, kid, we didn’t ask for trouble.  But it showed up on the doorstep anyway.  My neighbour would tell me it’s fate.  There’s no reason for you to leave quite so soon, all right?  Why don’t you stay here for a few days?  You might decide you’re ready to let your memories come back.  You’ve clearly got some issues to deal with, and it’s far better for you to work them out here than sleeping under a newspaper at a bus stop, you know?  I’m not going to call the cops and report some missing kid turning up at my house, all right?  For all I know, you’re here because you were running away from some kind of abuse, and I don’t want to shove you right back into some kind of mess.  But it doesn’t sit right with me, the idea of cutting you loose to go it alone.  I want you to stay here.  Just for a few days.  All right?”

Averil was shaking his head, looking to be on the verge of tears.  “I don’t understand.  I don’t understand why you’re helping me.  I can’t be worth it.  I just can’t.”

"Not for you to decide, is it?” Zack grunted at him.  “We’re the ones who know whether it’s worth it or not.”

“What do you want me to do?” Averil asked humbly.  “I mean, if I stay here, should I be, I dunno, reading religious texts about the sanctity of my life or something?”

Harold stared at his strange guest for a moment, then he started howling with laughter.

Averil scowled at him, apparently hurt by being laughed at.

“You are the damndest thing, boy,” he chuckled, “but I think I like you.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  He sounded pleading, scared.

Zack didn’t smile, but then he never smiled.  Probably didn’t know how to smile.  “You’re a good cook.  You can make lunch.”

Averil howled in outrage, but Zack made no response.  Harold sat back to watch.  Oh, it was worth it, all right.  He was an old man, there wasn’t much to hold his interest anymore—but this situation had serious entertainment potential.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_January 28th_

The door swung open so hard that the doorstop squealed in protest and snapped off from the baseboard.

“Hey, Finn, are you here?” Caleb called, catching the rebounding door with his shoulder and pivoting to get inside without hurting the body he carried.

“Yeah, just got back from work,” came a muffled sound from their bedroom, and Finn’s blond head peered out.  “What’s with the banging— oh my god!  What happened to Lee?” he cried out, running into the room.  He’d clearly been in the process of changing clothes, since his jeans were unbuttoned and he was carrying his shirt instead of wearing it.

“Nothing, he’s fine,” Caleb said, keeping his shoulder turned so Finn couldn’t get at the boy.  Finn hovered at his shoulder like an annoying insect, trying to see if Lee was bleeding or something.  “He just fell asleep in the car, that’s all.  Be quiet, let him sleep.”

“He must be _exhausted_ , I can’t believe he’s still asleep after you carried him all the way up—”

“If you’re going to be obnoxious, you think you could get the door?” Caleb growled, arriving at the bedroom that Lee currently had all to himself.

Finn opened it without a word, meaning he actually was worried about the kid.  Caleb put Lee down on his bed and backed up quietly, hoping he’d stay asleep and just sleep all night.  Because Finn was right, much as Caleb hated for Finn to be right about anything—Lee was exhausted.  Anytime he wasn’t actively out looking for Averil, he was staying up late fretting about his twin. For him to fall asleep while they were driving around looking for him, and then not waking up through all this commotion . . . Lee muttered something, and turned his face into his pillow.  Caleb dragged Finn out and shut the door.

“I’m going back out,” he announced.  “Unless you need the car back?”

“No, I don’t need it.  But it’s getting late,” Finn frowned at him.  “You don’t honestly think you’re going to find him this way?”

“Not really, but I had to promise the kid I’d keep looking so he’d come back here and go to bed.”

“He wouldn’t know if you didn’t,” Finn said, for once not joking.  “But you’re going anyway.”  Then he grinned up at his roommate.  “You’re such a good guy, Cal.”

“If you say so,” Caleb muttered.  “I’m wasting time.  See you.” 

“I’m coming,” Finn said, _finally_ putting the damn shirt on.  “Just wait here while I get my coat, Big Daddy.”

Caleb had been hoping that particular nickname was a one-time thing.  He’d spent the last two weeks hoping that Finn would get bored with it.  It persisted.

“No, you stay here with the kid.  Feed him if he wakes up.”

“And leave you all alone, Tough Stuff?” Finn pouted, giving him that fluttery-eyelash thing he hated from the bottom of his soul.  Finn _would_ pick this moment to do up his jeans.

“Why would I need your car, if I could take my bike?  Someone’s coming with me already.”

Finn gave him an exceptionally guarded look.  “You got the police involved?’

“Of course I didn’t,” he snapped.  That situation was driving him nuts—he’d been prepared to ignore Lee saying not to call the cops in case it made trouble for Averil.  He’d go around Lee if he had to.  But he’d acquiesced when he’d walked into his bedroom to find Finn packing a bag and preparing to leave.  Finn clearly had a big problem with the police.  “It’s just a friend of mine.”

Finn dropped the man-of-mystery thing and went back to being annoying.  “Should I be shocked that you have friends?”

Caleb let out a short-lived growl.  “He’s in my math class.  He was in the library the other day and heard you and I talking about Averil.  Said he wanted to help.  Turns out that his girlfriend is subbing at the high school, she had Averil in a class.”

“Does this hero have a name?” Finn asked dryly.

“Matt,” Caleb said, getting impatient to be gone.  “Matt Decker.  And you’ve heard Lee talking about his girlfriend, he actually likes English now because she’s such a good teacher or something.  Something Elda?”

Finn suddenly went still.  “Claire Elda?”

“Yeah, that’s it.  You know her?”

“No, no,” he laughed, flapping his hands to emphasize his point.  “I heard Lee talking about her, and it just took me a second to remember the name.  So this Matt must be a really nice guy, huh?  And you’re going to be all alone in _my_ car with him, at _night_ . . . I’m so jealous, Cal.”

“You’re such a dumbass,” he snorted.  “Anyway, I’m out of here.  Take care of the kid.”

“Mommy to the rescue!” Finn said cheerfully, heading for the kitchen.  “I’ll make him hot chocolate!”

“Whatever, dumbass,” Caleb said as he exited.  Two could play the nickname game.

He really was a dumbass if he thought Caleb believed him.  He could always tell when Finn was lying, and that perv was lying now.  He knew Claire Elda.  Maybe it wasn’t any of Caleb’s business, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t become good friends with Matt Decker.

Assuming, of course, that Decker didn’t laugh himself sick and refuse to come when Caleb picked him up in a powder-blue Volkswagen Beetle.

 

* * *

 

Lee woke up in stages.  First he registered sounds nearby, and his nearly-conscious brain dismissed it as one of his roommates.    Next, still with his eyes closed, he noticed that it was true-dark around him, not just the dark of closed window blinds.  Nighttime, then.  He might have let his weary, protesting body go back to sleep, lulled by the knowledge that it was late, he was tired, and the building was not currently burning down around him.  In fact, he was so wiped out that even his worries over Averil and Sara might not have roused him.

But the worries, when combined with his growling stomach, got him up.  He was starving.  Well, okay, not _starving_ starving.  He’d been _real_ starving a couple of times when he and Averil had been on the streets, and he definitely wasn’t real starving right now.  But he was pretty hungry, and the homeless experience had taught him a lot about instant gratification.

He shambled out of his room, recalling with a sense of surreality that he had fallen asleep in Finn’s car while Caleb was driving him around.  He had no idea how he’d gotten upstairs.

Finn was puttering around the kitchen, making something that involved chocolate and more bowls and pans than Lee had thought they owned.  “Hello, sleepyhead.”

“Um,” Lee managed to get out, shuffling past Finn for a glass of water to wash away the cobwebs in his brain.  “Where’s Caleb?”

“Driving around,” Finn answered with a shrug.

Lee felt a deep stab of guilt, looking at the clock and thinking that Caleb had been gone for at least an hour.  “I didn’t mean for . . . I hope he comes back soon.”

Finn whipped his cell phone out of his back pocket, punched rapidly at the keypad, and shoved it back into his jeans—he typed faster than anyone Lee ever knew.  “I told him he can come back home,” he said.  Then he sighed happily.  “The advent of text messaging changed the course of my existence.”  
  


Lee realized he was just sort of staring.  “I am way too tired to respond to your crazy,” he finally pronounced, and looked at the mess Finn was making of the kitchen.  “You’re not making real food, are you?” he asked hopefully.

“Afraid not,” Finn said, still cheerful.  “Cheesecake.  Chocolate cheesecake.”

“Oh.  Um.  Who’s going to eat it?”

It was a well-established fact that Caleb refused to eat chocolate in general, despite Finn’s repeated pronouncements that real men loved chocolate.  Lee would do his part, sure, but that still left 7/8ths of a cheesecake.  Lee prayed that Finn wasn’t going to eat the rest himself.  The sugar high would last for days.

“I’m going to give it to Molly and Yvonne,” he said.  “I’m also making chocolate chip scones, and I’m going to share those with our neighbours.  But I’ll save some for you!”

“Thanks,” Lee sighed, rummaging in the fridge and coming up with a half-eaten can of ravioli that he sort of remembered opening about a week ago.  And a can of Mountain Dew, from the plentiful supply that he and Finn kept stocked.  Caleb was more of a vitamin water guy.

“I was going to make you something,” Finn said.  “I just got distracted.”

“Eh, it’s fine.”

“But how can I keep telling Caleb I’m a good mommy if I don’t make dinner?” he pouted.

Lee gaped at him again.  “That was a joke, right?”

Finn gave him a mysterious smile and stirred a bowl of something.

“Right?”

“At least go sit down.  I’ll warm this up for you.”

“Finn, you’re not actually going to start calling yourself ‘Mommy’ are you?” Lee asked weakly as the blond pushed him into the living room to sit down.  “You’re suicidal, aren’t you?  You _want_ Caleb to strangle you to death.”

“Something like that,” Finn said agreeably, dumping the can of ravioli into a bowl.  Then he wrinkled his nose and took a cautious sniff.  “Uh, Lee?  You might not want this.  There’s something green . . .”

Someone knocked on the door.  Lee left Finn to curiously poke at the unidentified substance while he answered the knock.  It was Yuri, holding a grocery bag.

“Uh, hi,” he said, using his free hand to adjust his glasses.

“Hey, Yuri.  Come in.”

“Thanks.  Are you okay, Lee?”

“Fine, why?’

“You must have just woken up.  Finn was supposed to tell you to come over when you woke up.”  Yuri dropped the bag on their folding-cum-dining table, and Lee saw Finn flinch.

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Lee asked him.

Finn gave him a weak smile.  “I was going to.  After you ate.  I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

“Well, on that note,” Yuri said, opening the bag and beginning to pull out things wrapped in tinfoil, “I thought it was our turn to bring something over.  It’s roast beef and baked potatoes.”

“Wow, thanks,” Lee said enthusiastically.

“You haven’t had any more time to cook than we have,” Finn pointed out, “with all of Sara’s doctor’s appointments.”

Yuri bit his lip for a moment, then shook his head and crumpled up the plastic bag he’d brought dinner in.  “They’re only letting family stay with her, so I haven’t been going.  I was alone all afternoon, so I got bored and started cooking.  I’m not that great at it, but the roast turned out okay.  So, enjoy.  Lee, you can come by tomorrow, if you’d rather.”

Lee was fuming over the stupid hospital where Sara was getting her tests done.  It kind of made sense that they wouldn’t let Lee in, but why would they keep Yuri out?

“Tom must be pissed,” he said.  “Has he threatened to sue the hospital yet?”

“About twenty times,” Yuri said with a little affectionate smile.  “I told him getting Sara’s tests done was more important.”  Suddenly, his eyes were full of tears.  “Actually, Lee, you’d better come over right now.  Tom’s in shock, so he probably won’t even say anything rude to you.  Sara could really, really use a friend right now.”  He gusted out a very shaky sigh and tried to cover his tears by moving into the kitchen to throw away the plastic bag he’d been twisting in his hands.

“Yuri, what is it?” Finn asked quietly, getting out of his way.

“The tests came up with something,” Lee realized, noticing how dull his voice sounded.  “Didn’t they?”

“She has leukemia,” Yuri said, leaning over the sink with his hands braced on either side.  He was staring down the drain like it contained some precious jewel.  “I don’t know what kind, exactly, but I know it’s the kind that only gives her a fifty percent chance.”

“Fifty per— fifty percent chance at _what_?” Lee gasped out.

“At getting well.”

“What are you saying?” he whispered, feeling his heart hammering.

“I’m saying that she’s equally likely to die or live, Lee,” Yuri said softly.  “Treatment is going to start immediately, but we won’t know if it’s working for a few months.  And if it isn’t working . . . They say she has about six months to turn things around.  If she doesn’t go into remission by the end of the summer, they’ll stop treatment.”

Lee couldn’t breathe.  He felt sick, scared, panicked, and he felt like he was choking.  His brain spent a wild second wondering if this was what Averil felt like all the time and suddenly not blaming him for trying to get away from it.  Then his legs went into action and he was running for the door.

“Sara—”

He slammed into something very large and unyielding, and nearly fell over.  A large pair of hands caught him and held him, and he looked up to see Caleb looking down at him with a stern expression.

“Caleb,” he gasped, and tried to get past him, but the hands wouldn’t let him go.

“You left the door open.  I heard,” Caleb said gruffly.

“Let me—I have to see her—”

“You have to calm down first.”

“But she’s—”

“She’s scared enough without you bursting in her door looking like a lunatic.”  Caleb held him in place with nothing more than his hands on Lee’s arms.  He couldn’t have broken that insanely strong grip if he tried, but he didn’t try.  He just looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said.  “Let me go.”

“In a minute.”

“Let _go_ , Caleb.”

He did, and Lee walked—calmly, slowly, walked—to the next apartment and let himself inside.  Caleb, standing barely inside the front door, surveyed the wreck of their kitchen, covered in half-finished dessert and tinfoil blobs, and raked his hand through his hair.  Yuri started to move for the door, but then Tom appeared.  He looked angry.

“I’m giving them a few minutes to themselves,” he grunted.  “Against my better judgment.”

"Maybe we should eat,” Yuri said, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder and pulling him inside so he could shut the door.

“Not hungry,” Tom muttered.

Yuri looked hopelessly at the other two guys, but they both shook their heads.  It did spoil one’s appetite a bit to find out that someone you cared about might be dying.

“I have Johnny Walker,” Finn said in a very nonchalant voice.

They looked at one another cautiously.

Caleb strode into the kitchen and started getting out some glasses.  “Knew you were good for _something_ , Finn.”

 

* * *

 

Lee didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on Tom’s sofa, but he didn’t care.  His hand moved almost absently through Sara’s hair while his thoughts were caroming in every direction at a million miles an hour.  He had kept himself together on the surface, acting like he wasn’t on the verge of panic.  Caleb was right, Sara didn’t need him crying and shouting.  He had to be strong for her.

The door opened.

Tom slipped inside, and looked right at him.  Lee was used to seeing disapproval in Tom’s eyes—he was a kid, he was a delinquent, he was just shy of homeless—but he didn’t see it now.  Tom was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.

Lee looked down, self-conscious about Tom’s silence.  Sara had been pretending to be strong for her brother, but once Tom had gone away she’d broken down.  Lee had held her while she cried, and he didn’t complain.  He got her some tissues and a glass of water, but other than that he’d spent all his time sitting here on the sofa, holding her.  She’d finally fallen asleep, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her.  So he put her head in his lap and sat still, except the hand that slowly stroked her hair.

He’d told her that he’d be there for her, in whatever way she needed.  He didn’t care what she asked, he’d do it.  She’d cried and said he shouldn’t.  Said she didn’t want to _impose_ on him, of all the stupid things to say.  She didn’t want to be a burden.  But she never could be that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, still not moving.  Sara didn’t stir, sleeping peacefully.

Tom was still standing there, still hadn’t said anything.  Lee suddenly figured out what they’d been doing next door, but he didn’t complain, since drinking apparently made Tom less rude.

“I told her that I’m staying.  That I’ll be here for her.  I promised.”

Tom let loose a sigh of epic proportion.  “Promised, huh?”  He finally moved, walking past Lee to go into the kitchen that looked exactly like the one next door.  He splashed some water on his face.  “Why?’

“Because . . . Sara’s important to me,” he said at last.  “I’ll do whatever I can to help her, you know that.”  He looked down at her, let his fingers run over her cheek, then pulled his hand away.  “She was worried about being a burden to me.”

“Yeah?  Maybe you don’t know much about cancer, but it isn’t a fucking cakewalk, kid.”

Lee set his jaw and met Tom’s eyes.  “I know that.  I also know that Sara couldn’t be a burden to me if she tried.  I’m here because I want to be.  And I’m not leaving.  Not ever.  No matter what happens.  I’m staying.”

Tom said something, but it was muffled by the towel he was using to dry off his face.  He was probably just swearing, anyway.  When he pulled the towel away, there was an odd grimace on his face.  Was he actually trying to smile?

“Yuri said you’d say that.”

“I just want you to know that I’m seri—”

“Look, kid, you don’t have to say anything, all right?  I heard it all from them already.”  He jerked his thumb at the wall separating their apartments.  “They said you’re important to Sara, and that she needs someone she can lean on.  So I’m not going to argue, all right?  You’re staying.  I get it.  I don’t have to like it, but if you’re what my sister needs to get through this, then I’ve got nothing to say.”

Lee just stared at him, stunned.  Times like this, it was almost like Tom actually loved Sara instead of just tolerating his little sister.

“That said, you are leaving, for now.  It’s the middle of the fucking night and she should be in bed.”

Tom came over and picked Sara up out of Lee’s lap.

“Oh.  Okay.  Where’s Yuri?”

“Asleep on your couch.  I didn’t want to wake him.  Sorry.”

“No, I was just wondering.  Um, goodnight.”

“Get out, kid,” Tom said, sounding weirdly gentle.

“Be nice, Tom,” Sara mumbled, and the two boys looked sharply at her, but she wasn’t really awake enough to call it that.

Lee jumped up and ran for the door.  “Uh . . .”  He turned around but looked at the ground.  “Thanks.”  He hurried back to his own apartment as quickly as possible.  He wasn’t about to do anything to damage this tenuous truce.

Yuri was, indeed, asleep on the sofa, looking sort of peaceful.  Someone had taken off his glasses and set them beside the empty glass that was on the floor near his dangling hand.  Caleb and Finn were both sitting on the floor, resting their backs against the wall, passing a bottle back and forth in a heavy silence.  Neither of them seemed all that drunk, just very serious.  Finn was blinking a lot.

“Hey, kid,” Caleb greeted him.

“What did you guys do to Tom?”

Finn smiled up at him, and it was even more sugary-sweet than usual.  “We were just telling him that it was about Sara’s needs and not his, that’s all.”  Something in his posture or maybe his expression gave Lee the sudden urge to scratch behind his ears and see if he’d purr, but he resisted the temptation.  “Come here, sit.  You could probably use one of these.”  He wiggled an empty glass.

“Uh, no, I’m good.”

“Look, Caleb’s not even shouting at me about not giving the kid alcohol.”

Lee sat down and took a pull from the bottle.  Finn generally had good stuff.  He was too young to know what constituted good stuff, technically, but oh well.  Besides, he just found out his . . .  His . . . His something-very-special-but-currently-unidentified-relationship was in danger of being lost to leukemia.  On top of his twin brother running away two weeks ago. He could be forgiven this once.

Caleb frowned at him.  “Go easy, there.”

“Oh, please,” Finn tutted.  “I had to buy _you_ alcohol until two months ago.”

Caleb glared at him.  “When did I ask you to?”

“Hey, Finn?” Lee asked, his mouth feeling muffled.  He was still tired, still hungry, and the pleasant alcohol burn was already snaking its way through him.  “How old are you, anyway?”

Finn let out a breathy little laugh.  “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Caleb growled.

Lee passed him the bottle, thinking this might be one of those conversations that raised Caleb’s blood pressure to dangerous levels.

“I don’t really keep track,” Finn laughed, flapping his hands.  “I forget.”

“When’s your birthday?” Lee asked, rolling his eyes.

“December twelfth.”

“We missed it?”  Lee felt a stab of guilt.  “Sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Finn shrugged.  “Only reason we knew about Caleb’s birthday is because I asked Molly, from the management office.”

Caleb twitched.  “You’re a nosy bastard and I’m going to have Molly fired. And I refuse to have a birthday the same month as you, so you’re changing yours.”

Finn just grinned at him.  “You can’t _change_ your birthday, Hot Shot.”

“Do not _call me that_!” Caleb hollered, punching him hard on the shoulder before handing him the bottle with slightly too much force.  “What _year_ were you born?”

“Oh.  Nineteen eighty-four.”

“You just turned twenty-five, dumbass.”

“So I did,” he giggled.  “You’re so clever, Cal.”

Yeah, this was definitely one of those blood pressure moments.  Maybe Caleb should be on medication for that.  At least while he lived with Finn.

 

* * *

 

Caleb was extremely happy to finally get to bed.  He’d had practice today and he was wiped out. He’d been ready to sleep an hour ago, but he wasn’t about to leave Finn and Lee alone with the alcohol.  He never had been able to sleep if the rest of the household wasn’t in bed; ever since junior high, he’d been the one going around to make sure the doors were locked and lights off at night.  Now, he lay on his back, silent and still, waiting to see if Finn would fall asleep.  Some nights, Caleb was sure, Finn just waited for him to fall asleep so he could get back up to study and then pretend in the morning that he’d only been awake for an hour.  Caleb was hoping that since Finn was a little drunk, he’d sleep.

“Hey, Cal?”

Caleb closed his eyes and tried not to groan aloud.  Not only was he not sleeping, he wanted to talk now?  They never talked in here.  It was weird enough just sleeping in the same room.

“Oh, Cal, _baby_ . . .”

“I will kill you if you even think about saying that ever again,” he snarled.

“You were hurting my feelings, ignoring me like that.”

“Drop the act, Finn, I’m tired.  What?”

There was a long silence.

“Don’t bother me if you’re not even going to say anything.”

“I was going to say . . . This is too much.  For Lee, I mean.  It’s not fair to ask him to deal with Averil and Sara, both.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair.  Seriously?  That’s why you’re keeping me awake?”

“If we could get Averil back, that would make things easier on him.”

Caleb kept his eyes on the ceiling and tried not to look as tense as he felt.

“Let’s call the police and report Ril missing.”

Caleb gave up trying.  He sat up in a rush so he could glare at Finn.  “Yeah, that’s a great idea.  For one thing, he’s legally adult and he left a note and the cops will think you’re wasting their time.  But that’s not really the issue, anyway.  How is it going to help Lee to get Ril back and lose you?”

“Lose me?” Finn asked with a weak giggle.  “What are you talking about, Cal?”

“Like you don’t know?  You can tell me as often as you want that you weren’t packing a bag that day, but I’m not buying what you’re selling.  I’m not an idiot.  If we call the cops, you’re going to leave.”

“And Lee gets Ril back.”

“And I’m telling you that won’t _help_ , dumbass.  I don’t know why, because you’re goddamn obnoxious, noisy asshole, but that kid cares about you.  He’d be upset if you were gone.  Which you can’t really complain about, can you?  You’re the one who pulled off the heroic rescue and brought them here.”

“You really think I’m a hero?  How sweet of you!”

“I don’t think you’re a hero.  Lee thinks you’re a hero.  I think you’re a dumbass.  The point is, he’d miss you.”

 

* * *

 

_Caleb heard keys rattle in the lock and rolled his eyes.  Oh, hooray, his roommate was home to be noisy and distracting.  He was really going to kill that bitch Yvonne one of these days.  Three months down, ten to go before he was free of this guy._

_“Honey, I’m home!” Finn sang out, opening the door._

_“I will kill you, bastard,” Caleb started, but all the heat left his voice and he trailed off into startled silence when Finn held the door open for a couple of young kids._

_“Look what I found outside!” Finn said cheerfully._

_“What do you mean,_ found _?”_

_“Come on in,” Finn said, ignoring Caleb to lead the two boys through the living room.  The shorter one with brown hair looked dirty and tough.  The skinnier one with black hair looked ill, all pale and with a constant cough he was trying to muffle in his sleeve.  “Bathroom’s right here and this is my room, you can use it.  Whenever you’re done, let me know and I’ll scrounge up something to eat.”  He turned around when the door closed on the two boys to face Caleb.  “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’ll vouch for them.  Listen, Cal, I just wanted to let them come inside and warm up for a while, maybe take a shower.”  Finn frowned.  “I don’t think they’ve eaten for a while.”_

_“So where the hell did you ‘find’ them?”_

_“You have to watch your language around the young, impressionable children, Hot Shot,” Finn laughed._

_Caleb narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.  The story leaked out of Finn when Caleb got up a good glare.  How he’d seen the brown-haired kid being chased by a couple of scary-looking security guards, how he’d felt bad for the kid and helped him escape.  How it turned out that the boy—his name was Lee—was shoplifting asthma medication for his brother.  How Finn had transported Lee to where his brother was waiting and found out that they were sleeping in an abandoned basement with no electricity.  Finding out that the exposure was making Lee’s twin brother very sick.  Deciding to bring them back to the apartment to get cleaned up and warmed up and fed._

_The two boys were polite and respectful and humble.  The sick one, Averil, was near-silent unless it was to apologize for coughing too much.  The determined-looking Lee, the thief, apologized for being a nuisance and intruding on Caleb and promised they’d leave as soon as Averil had eaten—like he didn’t care if he personally ate or not, so long as his brother did.  Finn was his cheerful and annoying self, hovering around the boys like some kind of mother hen._

_It was a good thing that Lee had stolen that asthma medication because it got put to use when a bad coughing fit led to an attack.  Caleb got to see how much the two boys cared about one another when Averil started to fall and Lee caught him and held him until he could breathe again.  He heard Lee say that he was trying to find a job but that it was hard when you were only fifteen and didn’t have an address.  He explained that they spent a lot of time in the library trying to learn, since they didn’t attend school to avoid being caught.  How they had resorted to this kind of life to avoid getting put in the system and being stuck in different places with people who didn’t care about them.  Then Finn made Averil go sleep in his bed, because he really looked like hell._

_Once Averil had gone into the bedroom, Lee admitted that if Averil got any sicker, he was going to turn himself in for shoplifting and let them take Averil away to someplace he’d be cared for._

_“You’d be separated,” Finn said, and frowned for the first time that Caleb had ever seen._

_Lee looked like he might cry, but he nodded.  “I’d accept it, if someone could help him better than I could.  But only then.  I’ve heard such awful things about kids put in foster care . . .”_

_“Those are worst-case scenarios, you know,” Caleb spoke up, making his one and only contribution to the conversation.  “There are a lot of people who take in foster children because they care about making a difference.  Most of them treat the kids right.  Some of them even love the kids.”_

_Finn had given him a very searching look, but what did Caleb care?  It wasn’t like his past was a gigantic secret, it was just something he didn’t talk about.  It wasn’t like he was really talking about it now, he just wanted this stupid kid to understand that the suffering he was going through was unnecessary._

_“Maybe,” Lee said.  “But I wouldn’t give them my brother unless I was sure.”_

_Finn told Lee he might as well go to bed, they could sleep here for the night.  As soon as Lee had accepted it, again with humility and good manners, he turned to Caleb with a grin._

_“They’re housebroken and they don’t take up much room.  Can I keep them?”_

_“You can’t be serious.”_

_“I’m never serious, you know that.  I just thought we could let Lee use our address to find a job.”_

_Caleb glared at him.  “If we let him use our address, we might as well just let him move in, right?  You want to give the two of them your room until they can get out on their own.  You know what?  Whatever.  I don’t care.  But if your bed doesn’t fit in my room, you’re the one who’s sleeping on the couch.”_

_“I knew you wanted to share a room with me, Cal,” Finn sighed with pleasure._

_“Soon as they can get a job, they start paying rent.”_

_“I’m sure Lee would do that whether we asked him to or not.”_

_“You sure they’re going to agree to stay?”_

_“No.  But I hope they do.”_

_In the morning, Averil had asked politely if he could cook them breakfast to say thank you for letting them stay the night.  He was an excellent cook.  Caleb looked at Finn, shrugged, and said this was good enough to be Averil’s portion of the rent._

_The two boys were dumbfounded by the invitation.  It didn’t make any sense that two complete strangers were willing to be so generous with them.  Caleb wasn’t sure he would have, on his own.  In fact, until the previous night, he’d been sure that Finn wouldn’t have.  But Finn was the one who wanted this.  Selfish, dishonest Finn.  Something about these two kids had him opening up.  Caleb shrugged and said it was fine so long as they didn’t play shitty music in the middle of the night._

_They stayed._

 

* * *

 

Finn was staring at his bed and tracing a pattern into the sheet with his finger.  He looked far away.

“You don’t have any right to get upset,” Caleb said.  “You brought them here, so it’s your own damn fault for becoming their friend.  It’s too late to say you can just go, exchange yourself for Averil.  It doesn’t work like that.”

Finn was silent, his wide eyes still on the curlicues he was tracing into the sheet.

“Look, I don’t care why you’re afraid of the cops.  It’s got nothing to do with me.  You haven’t done anything while I’ve known you.  Your problem is that you’re stuck on something that happened in the past.”

“So?” Finn asked harshly.

"So it’s the past, and the past isn’t part of your life now.  Grow the fuck up, Finn, and pay attention to what’s right in front of you,” Caleb said, too tired to snarl.  He flopped back down into bed and put his arms under his head, going back to staring at the ceiling.  He thought he heard Finn laugh, but Finn always laughed when he wasn’t supposed to.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“If you mean you bother me, then yes.”

“It bothers you that I don’t like police,” Finn said.

“Maybe.  Little hard to swallow, you know.  Since I was raised by them, and I was thinking about being one.”

“I know you said your dad was a police officer.  But he died when you were young, didn’t he?”

He wanted to have _this_ conversation?  Right after Caleb had said Finn’s past was his own business, Finn decided it was time to talk about Caleb’s?  He was obviously trying to piss him off.  Deliberately.  To make Caleb too mad to observe Finn too closely.  He wouldn’t take the bait, he decided.  He was too drunk to get in a fight.  If Finn wanted to talk, they’d talk.  “I was fourteen.  His best friend had been on the force, and the friend’s daughter became a lawyer.  Amy’s the one who took me in.  She was already raising her sister, she didn’t mind raising Tanya’s friend, too.”

Finn sat up to gawk at him.  “Tanya?  Your girlfriend, that Tanya?”

Caleb scowled at the ceiling.  “I just call her that.  Easier than trying to explain everything.  She’s just . . . someone I’m really indebted to.  I lost it for a while, when my folks died.  Would have ended up in jail if not for her.  So I started looking out for her.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yeah.  But it’s complicated.  I don’t . . . she’s only a kid.”

“So more like your sister?”

“No.  I’ve seen how Tom and Sara act.  She’s not like my sister.  I can’t call her my friend because that’s not what it’s like, either.”

“But have you ever _kissed_ her, Cal?” he asked mockingly.

“No.  Now quit acting like you’re in junior high and shut the hell up.  I’m trying to sleep.”

“Do you _want_ to kiss her?”

“Finn, I swear to God I will shove your pillow down your throat just to make you shut up.  Go.  To.  Sleep.”

Finally, finally, the idiot closed his fat mouth.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_February 1st_

“Miss Dovie, Miss Dovie, Miss Dovie, Miss Do—”

“Yes, Thomas, what is it?” she asked with a divine level of patience, picking the boy up as he zoomed toward her, and swinging him around.  “Lucy didn’t steal Naveen’s toys again, did she?”

“No, Miss Dovie,” Thomas said, shrieking with laughter until she set him down again.  “There’s a man looking for you.”

“There is?  Who is it?”

Alex stood silently just out of her sight in the doorway, smirking.  This would be fun.

“I don’t know.”

“But he comes to visit me all the time, Thomas.  You know Alex.”  She was kneeling down to look Thomas in the eyes, just one of the many reasons the kids loved her so much.  He smirked harder.  She _would_ assume it was him.  And thank God she did, if there were _other_ men coming to see her at work he’d have to hurt somebody.

“It isn’t Alex.  Alex always calls you ‘Dee.’  The other man said only annoying brats would call you that, and then he said you’re a stupid pigeon if you let them—”

Dovie stood up so abruptly that her hair fell out of the kerchief she’d tied it up in, and long brown tresses started to slither down her back.  “Pigeon?”

“Yeah.  Miss Dovie, I think he called you stupid . . .”

She ran out of the room and flew right past Alex, spotted the man standing behind him.  “Ian!” she shrieked, and flung herself onto him.  He barely managed to stay upright, and fell back into the wall with a grunt, trying to hold her up, too.  “Ian, I can’t believe it’s you!”

Ian rolled his eyes at Alex, but his face was glowing too much for Alex to believe he was anything less than happy.  “Hey, sis.”  He grunted and tried to push her away so he could get his feet under him, but that wasn’t happening.

“Dee, you might wanna get off him.  You’re not exactly a featherweight, you know,” Alex drawled.

Ian threw a sharp look at him.  “How would you know?”

She finally got off her brother, but only so she could smack his chest.  “Honestly, Ian.  Alex and I are _married_.”

“I know, but—”

“Ugh, you’re worse than the kids.  Okay.  When two people love each other very, very much, they—”

“I know!” Ian said in panic, shoving his hand over her mouth.  “Just stop.  I don’t want to hear about it, that’s all.  You’re my baby sister, Pigeon.”

Alex just stayed where he was, enjoying the show.

“About that,” she said, narrowing her eyes.  “Don’t call me stupid where the kids can hear you.”

“It ain’t my fault our parents gave you such a crappy name that’s so easy to make fun of,” he protested.  “And you are stupid,” he added, but with an affectionate smile.  He reached his hand out and yanked her kerchief (which had become something of a moot point), pulling it nearly off and making her squeal.  “At least I don’t call you Dee.”

 “She likes being called Dee,” Alex defended himself.  He stepped forward and batted his wife’s flailing hands away from her hair.  “Just hold still, let me get it.”

 She sighed and went still while he gathered her hair up, the whole gigantic waterfall of it, and started tying the cloth back over the silky brown mess.

“You ever thought about cutting that rat’s nest off?” Ian asked her with a smirk.  “Hell of a lot more practical than doing . . . Whatever you’re doing, there.”

“I like my hair,” she said firmly.

“Yeah?  What about you, Ponytail?  You going to chop off that affront to humanity soon?”

“Oh, that’s my name this week?” Alex asked without concern.  Actually, he was going to, not that it was Ian’s business.  Lawyers didn’t get to have ponytails.  The looks he’d gotten from his professors made it pretty clear _that_ was Unwritten Rule #1.  “Clever one, Ian.”

“I had to stop calling you brat sometime.  It just seemed wrong once you put the ring on her finger.”

“How generous,” Dovie said enthusiastically, with that way she had that made Alex wonder if she was actually joking or not.  Hair fixed, she stepped forward to embrace her brother again.  “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, hugging him so hard she nearly had to break her neck to look up at him.  “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Ian just patted her on the back and smiled.  “I wanted to check on you.  You know how you attract trouble.”

“That’s why I married Alex,” she said, and she let go of Ian so she could come to him and let him slide his arm around her waist.  By his side . . . that was where he liked Dee.  Ian was right, trouble did seem to find her, probably because she had zero common sense.  Only now it was Alex’s job to save her, instead of her Ian’s.  “So, brother, what are you up to, these days?  It feels like it’s been forever since we last heard from you!”

“Ah . . . I’m just working at my friend’s bakery again,” he shrugged.  “Still can’t figure my life out, I guess.  Anyway, I was getting restless and Brian told me to take some time off and come see you guys.”

“And you didn’t call?”

“Do I ever call?  It would just give you time to run away before I could show up.”

“I wouldn’t!” Dovie protested.  Then her eyes flew wide.  “But I have to clean!  Oh, Alex, the house is a mess!”  She pulled away from him to start gesticulating with her hands in a panic.  “We can’t have a guest over until I have time to organize the kitchen, and I don’t know if we have an extra blanket for him, and—oh, Ian, you should have called, you jerk—”

“Dee, stop,” Alex commanded, putting himself behind her so he could hold her close and pin down her arms before she accidentally hit something.  “The house is fine.  We spent the whole weekend doing cleaning projects, remember?  Besides, Ian’s place is probably disgusting, so a pigsty would be a step up for him.”

“I can go back to “ugly brat” anytime,” Ian suggested, crossing his arms.  “I was being nice, but I don’t have to.”

Alex was feeling too warm and fuzzy from holding his wife to get into a real battle of wits with Ian, so he didn’t try.  He just changed the subject.

“You know how long it‘s been since Ian last visited?  He didn‘t know about the new location,” he said lightly.  He didn’t let Dovie turn around to look at him.  He liked her where she was, snug in his arms, just fine.  “He tracked me down on campus to ask me because he thought the school was still in the old place.  I was done with classes so I brought him over.”

“It’s not me you oughta be worried about, sis,” Ian said.  “It’s your husband.  Be very worried.  I know he tells you he’s taking law classes, but he’s actually just there to meet pretty girls.  Pretty, pretty blond girls who are very interested in sex.”

“She’s taken, Ian,” Alex sighed, and explained to his poor wife.  “You remember Claire, right?  Your friend from when you were in school?”

“Yes, of course!   We still talk all the time, she’s always been such a great friend, ever since we had that class together.  You know, she’s substitute teaching right now because she needs tuition money.  She’s real close to getting her PhD, she wants to be a psychiatrist so much.  I’m excited for her, I really am.  She’s so smart, even if most people think she’s weird.  She—”

“Dee, honey.  You’re talking again.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“She wants to be a sex therapist,” Ian snorted.  “I don’t think I want to know how you got to be friends with this girl.”

“We just met at school, that’s all.  Why are we talking about Claire?”

“Because she’s the pretty blond girl that I’m supposedly consorting with.  She was on campus today, having lunch with her guy, what’s his name, Decker.  We were chatting.  Ian showed up.  That’s the story.”

“Oh, how’s Matt doing?”

“Pretty well, I think, now that Claire has convinced him he really is smart enough for college.  He wasted so much time, thinking he couldn’t do it.  He’s awfully old to be a junior.”

“One of his friends showed up, too,” Ian remarked.

“Oh, yeah.  This dude Caleb, came to find Matt so they could study for their math class.  Intense, wasn’t he, Ian?”

“Maybe a little.  Ponytail here has a man crush on him."

"What’s a man crush?” Dovie asked innocently.

“God, Pigeon, I thought you weren’t sheltered and ignorant anymore.  Alex obviously isn’t doing his job.  Anyway, a man crush: It’s a perfectly heterosexual obsession with another man.”

“I do not have a man crush,” Alex objected.

“So this guy Caleb, he’s _huge_ , right?  Six and a half feet tall, he’s gotta be.  Goes around looking pissed off, wears a lot of black.  He’s the all-star of the baseball team right now.  Amazingly good, or so the Decker kid says.  Had on a pair of boots that tipped me off he might have a motorcycle, so I asked him if he rides, and he does.  He started talking about his bike, and Alex started drooling.  It was gross.  Thought I should get him a bib.”

“Who has a man crush?” Alex shot back. “And I didn’t drool.  I just like motorcycles.”

“I know, sweetie,” Dovie said sympathetically.  “And it’s okay for you to have a man crush.  I know you love me.”  She gave him a brief kiss, and that just wasn’t long enough to be worth the effort, so Alex deepened the kiss a little.

“Damn straight I do,” he mumbled.

“And you can have a motorcycle if you want one,” she declared.  “But you have to wear a helmet.”

“Hmph.”

“Dovie?  Is everything okay?  I’ve been looking for you, and Thomas said some man was—Oh, hi, guys!”

They all turned to see Sasha, the woman who ran the kindergarten, standing there looking surprised but pleased.  Her husband was right behind her, wearing a big frown.

“How are you, Alex?” Sasha said, stepping forward to claim a kiss on the cheek.  “You haven’t been around nearly enough lately.  Dovie’s taking care of you, right?  You’re eating and sleeping and remembering that you are, in fact, a human being?”

“She doesn’t trust me,” Dovie pouted.

Alex just laughed and gave Sasha a hug.  “I’m sorry.  I miss you, too.  But I’m sitting the bar exam in just a few months, and I’m working my ass off—”

“Language!” Sasha and Dovie said simultaneously.

Alex rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  I’m working really hard right now.”

“And how are you, Ian?” Sasha asked with less familiarity.  She didn’t actually know Ian that well, Alex guessed.  Dovie talked about him, but he was only in town once in a while, and he didn’t really like kids so he didn’t spend a lot of time at the school.

“I’m good,” Ian shrugged.  He nodded to Oscar, who was still standing in the back.  “Hello.”

Oscar stepped forward, looking disappointed.  “I thought you were in trouble, Dee.  I was going to beat somebody up for you.”

“You can beat Ian up anytime you like,” Dovie said in a generous tone.

“Can’t believe you’re still here, man,” Ian said, clearly ignoring his sister.  In truth, Alex sometimes had a hard time believing Oscar was here, too.  “Don’t you miss the old life?”

“I was thinking about that just last week,” Oscar said wistfully.  “One of the parents just ignored the fact that their kid had the stomach flu and brought them in anyway.   I saw the kid sitting there on the ground outside while the other kids played, looking bad.  I went to pick him up and bring him inside, and he puked all over me.  I was thinking: I could be breaking somebody’s kneecaps right now and making a lot of money.”

An ear-piercing shriek of laughter rang out from the classroom, and Ian winced.

“I would,” he growled.

“It’s not quite that simple, of course,” Oscar continued, smiling a bit at the deadly glare his wife was sending his way.  “Kneecaps or vomit is only part of the equation.  It’s more like, I could be a bad guy and I get to have a lot of money, or I can let a kid puke on me and the pretty lady lets me sleep in her bed.”  He grinned at Sasha and swooped down to steal a kiss from her frowning lips.  “I go with the pretty lady, every time.”

Ian crossed his arms and harrumphed, but Alex smiled at his wife.  “I have the same policy.”

Sasha smacked Oscar on the arm, but she did let him kiss her.  “Come on, we have to get back to the kids.”  She hooked her finger into his shirt and dragged him after her.  “Whom you adore, and you know it.  You’re nothing but a gigantic kindergartner, yourself.”

“I’d better go help,” Dovie said ruefully.

“No,” Sasha called back over her shoulder.  “It’s only five minutes until we’re dismissed for the day, anyway.  You go along with the boys, there, Oscar and I can handle the kids who stay late.”

Dovie wouldn’t hear of taking off early, so Alex and Ian went outside to have a smoke while they waited for her.  They leaned against the low wall that surrounded the school yard.

“Quiet neighbourhood,” Ian commented, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

“Yeah.  Mostly residential.  Just us and the antique store across the street.”

“Hunh?”  Ian found it pretty quickly, since it was the only house on the block with wrought iron on the windows.  “Oh, that one.  Antiques, huh?  Little old lady heaven?”

“Nah, I’ve been in there.  Not too many cute old ladies would want to shop there.  The owner specializes in weird stuff, like occult paraphernalia, and weaponry.”

“Really?  Weapons?”

“Mmm,” Alex confirmed while taking a drag.  “She’s got old army sabers and stuff.”  The smoke he released looked incredibly thick, in the cold air.  “But she loves anything that had religious significance, too.  She’s kind of a psycho, but she’s nice to the kids.”

There was a cacophony of noise as the front door of the school opened and the students came pouring out.  Ian winced.  “God bless her, then.”

“The rugrats aren’t that bad, you know.”

“So you say.  I think quitting this place and getting back to school was the first smart thing you ever did.”

“The first?  You admitting I’ve done more than one smart thing?” Alex smirked.

“Married my sister.  That was the second.  I’ll make a note of it if you ever get past two.”

Alex ground his cigarette butt on the schoolyard wall to put it out, then dropped it into his coat pocket.  Ian chuckled at him, but Alex didn’t care.  It was his wife’s workplace, his childhood friend’s school.  He wasn’t going to toss garbage around their place.

“Saving the environment doesn’t count as number three.”

“What if I convince you to go back to school?  Weren’t you studying to be a lawyer, a few years ago?”

Ian scowled so deeply that the building across the street should have caught fire, and said nothing at all.

Alex wanted to question him further, but a little girl was walking right past them, and he was distracted.  She had long, wheat-coloured waves of hair, and the expression on her pale face was very troubled.  Dovie came up beside him, and her face looked the same.

“Dee, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  I’m just worried about Karen.”

“Is that Karen?” Ian asked, nodding to the little girl, who walked to the outside of the wall and sat down on it, putting her chin in her hands.

“Yeah.  She waits for her mother out here like this.  She’s so isolated from the other children.  But I wish she wouldn’t wait out here in the cold.”

“Maybe you should talk to her momma.  Have her tell the kid it’s okay to wait inside.”

Dovie shook her head sadly, and said nothing.  Her frown deepened.

“What?  Is something wrong with her mother?”

Dovie bit her lip, and Alex reached out for her hand.  He didn’t like her to be worried.  She was too beautiful when she was happy to ever go through sadness.

“It’s nothing we can prove.”

“You and Sasha have talked about it?”

Dovie nodded, squeezing Alex’s hand and leaning against him.  “If she’s hurting Karen, she doesn’t leave any marks.  But we can see the behaviour when she picks her up.  She’s awful cold to her.  Distant.  She’s really strict.”

“Do you know why?”

“Only a little . . . No, I guess not.”

They watched the little girl.  Karen sat on the wall in silence.  Alone.

 

* * *

 

“So.  Thanks.”

Averil hadn’t been paying attention to the other boy.  “Huh?  For what?”

Zack nodded at the sack of groceries in Averil’s arms.  Averil was quick to respond.

“Whatever.  I wasn’t going out of my way to help you or anything, I was just bored.”

Zack had no response.  Averil immediately felt guilty, but he didn’t take it back.  He couldn’t swallow his pride, because at the moment, pride was all he had.  He didn’t know why he had this tendency to get defensive.  He had come to the store with Zack because he thought to help, but such acts spoke of weakness, didn’t they?

He was already weak enough.

The cold air was beginning to bother him a lot.  His problems with asthma, at least from what he’d seen in the past few weeks, were not that bad, but they were aggravated by the cold.  His breathing shouldn’t be this laboured from a simple walk to the grocery store around the corner, and his lungs were aching.  As they were passing in front of the school, Averil shifted the bag to his hip, so he could hold it with one hand while he used the other to fumble in the pocket of his coat for his inhaler.

As he brought it out and put the end in his mouth, he felt eyes on him.  He turned his head sharply to see a little girl, sitting on the fence.  Her face was pinched and white and she looked cold, and Averil couldn’t help but see a little of himself in her lost expression.  He found himself coming to a halt and smiling softly at her.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” she responded politely.

“You look awfully cold.  Shouldn’t you go inside?”

She shook her head.  “The other kids don’t like to play with me.”

“Oh?  Why’s that?”

She shrugged.  “I’m different.  I can’t swap lunches with them, because I eat different food, and I can’t run around during recess as much as they can.  I like to sit quietly and read, you know.  Mrs. Sasha says I’m an old soul.  Anyway, I guess you know about that kind of stuff.  Since you have it, too.”

“Huh?”

She reached into her pocket and revealed an asthma inhaler.  She gave Zack an inquiring glance, then turned back to Averil.  Zack stood patiently and waited.

“Since you have friends, maybe yours isn’t as bad as mine.  Mine used to be worse, but my mom made me see a special kind of doctor who gave me herbal treatment and put me on a different diet.  They said I’m better than before, but I have to be careful.”  Clearly, she did.  Even as she spoke, she was becoming more pale and she was breathing hard.  “I can’t play with the other kids, when it’s cold out.”

“I can’t either,” Averil admitted.  “You’d better use that, you know,” he said, nodding to her medicine.

“I know,” she said calmly, and did.

“You shouldn’t sit out here in the cold, should you?” he asked her, feeling concern for her apparent lack of interest in her own wellbeing.

“I’m waiting for my mother.  I don’t like waiting with the other children.  They’re rude.”

Averil turned and gave Zack a pleading look.  Zack just sighed.

“Can I wait with you?” he asked the girl.

“Oh . . . Okay.”

He sat quietly beside her, feeling rather peaceful about the whole thing.  The concept of being the strong one in a situation had not occurred to him before.  He felt good about trying to do something to help this little girl.

“Hey.”

“My name is not hey,” he informed Zack, not for the first time.

“I’m taking the groceries home.  I’ll come back.”

Averil handed over the bag, making snarky comments in his mind about Zack’s self-sacrificial attitude.  Of course he’d volunteer to take all the bags and allow Averil to do what he wanted.  Of course he would just accept Averil dumping the responsibility back on him after he’d volunteered to help.

But he wanted to help the little girl, too.  She kept shooting him questioning glances, no doubt thinking that he was odd.  Well, he was odd, but so what?  She shouldn’t be out here alone.  Well, mostly alone.  A group of adults, probably schoolteachers, were hanging around in the schoolyard with a couple of other kids.  Didn’t any of them see how sad this girl looked?

“What’s your name?”

“Karen May.  What’s yours?”

“Averil Reed.”

“Averil?”

“It’s kind of dumb,” he said, feeling himself blush.  “It means April, like the month.”

“Oh.”  She giggled, then she gasped and put her hand over her mouth.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“You can, if you want.  It’s a funny name.”

“I was laughing because your name is April and mine is May,” she said.

“Oh.”  He chuckled a little, to make her feel better.  She smiled, and it made him feel better to see it.  She was such a serious-looking child.

“Hey.”

“Oh, you’re back.  This is Zack,” he said, waving a hand at the boy and grimacing to show her he wasn’t important, just to make her giggle again.  She did, and he felt even better.  He’d found something he was good for, after all.  Zack didn’t seem to mind being made fun of.

“Well, good afternoon, gentleman,” came a drawling voice behind them.  They all turned to see a man crossing the yard in their direction, casually carrying a snow shovel.  “Bit cold out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, I guess,” Averil answered, while Zack went quiet and turned his sleepy-looking gaze on the newcomer.

“It occurred to me to wonder what two young men like yourself might be doing out here on such a cold day.  It would be awfully strange if you didn’t have anything better to do than hang around talking to a little girl.”

His face was pleasant, with a smile on his lips, but his tone carried a real threat.  Averil took a startled closer look at the guy.  Slender, black hair, nothing to write home about.  But something about the way he held that shovel, some sharpness in his eyes, communicated that he was capable of serious harm.  It suddenly came to Averil what the guy was implying, and he jumped to his feet in fury.

“That is not— I can’t believe you’d— What do I look like, some kind of creep?” he sputtered.  “We were walking by here, and I saw her sitting here by herself, and I stopped to make sure she was okay.”

“Karen, honey, you’re okay, aren’t you?”

Karen turned her soft, sad eyes up to her teacher and smiled.  “I’m okay now, sir.  This is Averil.  He has asthma like I do.  He was worried about me and said he would sit by me and wait for my mother.”

“Hmph,” was the man’s response.  He gave both boys a narrow-eyed look, but he turned to leave them alone.

“Is there a problem?” called another voice.  A tall guy, good-looking, with spiky hair and a confident swagger (not to mention a permanent look of bad attitude) was coming toward them, and suddenly all the adults were oriented their way.

“Everything’s fine,” the man called back.  A very warm-looking woman approached him and smiled up at him.  “I know, I know,” he groused.  “I don’t get to break people’s heads anymore.”  Despite his tone, he was smiling back.

“Of course there’s no problem!” said a short girl with a kerchief tied around her head.  She planted her hands on her hips and gave the whole lot of them an indignant look.  “You all know Zack Williams!  He and his grandfather live right across the street.  How are you, Zack?” she called out cheerfully, waving at him as she got closer.

Zack almost smiled.  His lips actually moved a little.  “Fine, thanks, ma’am.  You?”

“I’m wonderful!” she declared, which caused the long-haired guy behind her to roll her eyes.  “You must be a friend of Zack’s, huh?” she addressed Averil enthusiastically.

“No,” he said automatically.  “I’m just sort of staying with them for a while,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet, but the short woman was snatching up his hand and shaking it happily.

“I’m Dovie, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” he replied, still mumbling.

“Down, girl,” said the man with the ponytail, tucking the woman’s hand into the crook of his elbow.  “Bet your friend didn’t warn you about the nuthouse across the street, thinly disguised as a kindergarten.”

An eardrum-splitting shriek rang out, and every single one of the adults turned around simultaneously to shout, “Thomas!”

Averil smiled down at Karen, who was still sitting quietly on the wall, her eyes on the street corner.  “I can see why you’d want to wait out here,” he said.  He noticed she’d put her hands into her pockets.  “Don’t you have any gloves, Karen?”

She shrugged.  “I lost them.  I didn’t tell my mother because I didn’t want her to get mad.”

“You should tell her.  She might scold you, but you ought to have a pair in weather like this.”

She shook her head rapidly, causing her long tresses to flop around her shoulders.  “No.  I don’t mind having cold hands.”

Averil and Zack looked at one another and frowned.  That didn’t sound quite right.  Karen suddenly jumped to her feet and scrambled to the edge of the sidewalk as a car rounded the corner and approached the school.  The silver sedan was not flashy, but it made anyone driving it look sophisticated.  The window rolled down to reveal a woman with a severe face and bobbed hair the same colour as Karen’s.

“Get in,” she said.  “You need to practice for your recital.”

“Yes, Mother,” Karen said tonelessly, but she turned her head and gave Averil a very small smile as she reached out for the door handle.

“Who is that?” the woman asked sharply.  Her eyes raked over Averil.  “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” he sighed.

“They live over there,” Karen said, pointing rather vaguely through the car to the far side of the street.

“Great,” the woman said insincerely.  “How about you two leave my daughter alone?  Thanks.  Well, get in.”

Karen got in with more poise than they were used to seeing from a little girl.  The window rolled up, and the car drove off.  Averil scowled after it.

“That lady . . .”

“Mmm,” Zack added thoughtfully.

Averil turned around and looked at the woman who’d introduced herself as Dovie.  She, too, was looking after the car with an unhappy expression.  She saw Averil and nodded at him, as if in confirmation.

“She thinks so, too,” Averil said, making sure Zack saw the gesture.  “Anyway, let’s go back to your house, I’m freezing my butt off.”

“I left the groceries out,” Zack said.  Like that was a rational response or something.

 

* * *

 

“This qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment,” Harold groaned, pushing himself away from the table.

Averil was clearing the table and looked at Harold in confusion.

“All this food,” he elaborated.  “Every bit of it is delicious, but I can only eat so much.  It’s torment.”

Averil rolled his eyes and collected the empty plates.

“No, no,” Harold chided him, brushing his hand away.  “You did all the cooking, I can take care of this stuff.”  He pressed his hands over his stomach and groaned again, very theatrically.  “In a minute.”

Averil hovered uncertainly over the partially-cleared table.

“Sit down, boy,” Harold said gently.  “It can wait a minute.  Digest in comfort, all right?”

Averil never argued with Harold.  He sat.

“Maybe it’s time we had ourselves a talk,” Harold said, sounding very casual.

Zack was still in his seat, and his expression became a lot less lazy-looking at that.  It wasn’t anywhere near excited, but it was probably interested.  Averil immediately felt embarrassed.  It was time for them to talk, but he didn’t know what he was going to say.

“You’ve been with us for two weeks.  We’ve been glad to have you, especially when you lay out a spread this good.  You’ve been the most polite guest I’ve ever had, to be honest, and your dedication to keeping my kitchen clean is noteworthy.”

“But,” Averil said softly.

 “Can’t escape the ‘buts’ in this world, can you?” Harold said, keeping his tone light.  “Look, Averil, your memories aren’t coming back on their own.  You need to take a look in that bag of yours.  I’m not going to tell you what to do about what you find in there, but I am going to tell you that you should look.  The thing is, I’m not so sure you’re an adult.  Seems like you’re used to taking care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you’re of age.  It’s possible you’ve got a legal guardian that supposed to be making decisions for you, who might be looking for you.  None of us want the trouble we might be in, if we don’t start thinking about where you belong.”

Those words made Averil leap up and stalk out of the room.  Where he belonged?  Nowhere, so far as he could tell.  The past two and a half weeks had been great.  He couldn’t have picked a better house to get into a car accident in front of.  But that didn’t answer any questions about who he was, where he came from . . . where he was going.  He had to start making some plans.  He couldn’t just stay here forever, blissfully ignorant of himself.  Harold wasn’t going to let him.

He went into the living room, to the corner where he’d shoved the bag and refused to think about it.  He heard dishes clanking and knew he wasn’t going to be bothered, but he still hunched himself protectively over the bag and took a deep breath.  His heart was beginning to pound, much too fast.  Panic attack.  He was going to have a panic attack.  He’d almost had one, his first day here, but Zack had stopped it.  His body seemed to remember how it worked.  His breath was too sharp, his pulse was in his ears.  He was afraid, and he didn’t know why.

Zack ambled into the room, walked up to him, and smacked him on the back of the head.  “Hey.  Stop that,” he said.

“Like it’s that easy?” Averil snapped, clutching his bag even closer against himself.  But Zack just watched him, and it occurred to Averil that the other guy might be a little nervous about it.  He didn’t know how to help if Averil did go into an all-out attack, but Averil had no doubt that he’d try.  He’d at least stay here until it was over.  That was . . . oddly comforting.  Much as Zack annoyed him, much as it should be absurd to trust someone he’d only known for two weeks, Averil had no doubt that the guy would be good in a crisis.  That calmed him somewhat.

His heart was still going a mile a minute, but that was probably due to the bag in his lap.  It wasn’t getting worse.  So he cautiously slid a hand under the canvas flap and extracted the notebook that Zack had mentioned before.  Averil Reed.  It stated his homeroom, so the notebook could be returned if he lost it.  There was writing in it, class notes for some kind of math.  He set it aside and reached into the bag again.  His fingers closed on a wooden frame, and he drew a deep breath.

Zack was looking at him closely, making sure the breath was nothing serious.  Averil felt a spike of irritation, because, really, when did he ask Zack to care?  But still . . . oddly comforting.  He pulled out the frame and found a photograph.  He picked himself out quickly, and felt confused by the rest.  It seemed to be at least a couple of years old, since Averil looked younger.  There were four people, including him, posed like a family.  There was another boy his age who looked like an exact replica of the older man, and seemed to have the same expression on his face as that of the woman.  Averil stuck out like a sore thumb.

He let Zack see it.

“Your family?”

“I don’t know,” Averil said quietly, tightly.  Trying to think about how he knew them made his body tense up to prepare for an impact.  Those were the bad memories that hurt him to try to remember.  “I don’t look a thing like them.”

“Maybe you were adopted.”

Averil withdrew a manila folder from the bag, and flipped it open.  He sucked in a breath.  “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“If I was adopted, then why do I have this?”

There was a handwritten summary of the contents of the stack of documents, which seemed to be in Averil’s own handwriting.  Clearly, he had once thought it was a good idea to put all the pertinent information in one place.  So he could easily communicate it to others, maybe?  Zack perused the contents of the folder only cursorily, then passed it back over to him so he could read it in more detail.

Guess we don’t have to worry about your legal guardian.”

I _am_ my legal guardian,” Averil frowned.  “Except . . . Damn.  I have to be registered in school and have a permanent address, or they can take it back, until I’m eighteen.”

They were both silent for a minute, listening to the water running in the sink and Harold humming as the dishes clattered their way into the dishwasher.

“So,” Zack said.

Averil grimaced at him.

“You know what that means.”

“Enlighten me, oh wise one,” he snapped.

“You are in school somewhere, and you do have an address.  Probably theirs,” he said, nodding at the photograph.

Averil scowled down at it, blinking rapidly as he felt hot tears burn in his eyes.  “So what?”

Zack just looked at him questioningly.

“So what if I do?  I wasn’t happy there, I couldn’t have been.  Look at this stuff.  I took all these papers with me, and look at this.”  He shoved the open bag at Zack’s face to reveal the small pile of clothes left in it.  A toothbrush lay neglected on top of them.  “I was leaving.  I packed a bag.  I was running away or something.  And then I apparently decided to kill myself, so—”

He was choking, and he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes.  He was mortified.  He couldn’t believe he was crying in front of Zack, like some little girl.  Oh, wait, he’d met  little girl today who was too dignified to cry in front of strangers.  He was so pathetic.

“So what’s the point?” he coughed, pushing through the lump in his throat.  “Why would I try to figure out where I lived and everything, when I was leaving?”

“If that’s the way you want to look at it,” Harold said cautiously, revealing himself to be standing in the doorway.  Averil wiped his hand across his eyes again and tried to sit up straight and have some freaking dignity.  “If you’re sure that’s the way you want to look at it.”

“What other way is there?”

“You could say, since you regret the decision you made about stepping into the street like that, that you might also regret the decision to leave.  Maybe your memories aren’t coming to you because you were in the wrong when you left and you don’t want to remember that you hurt someone else.”

Averil shuddered.  “Maybe.  Don’t you get it?  That’s why I don’t want to remember.  So I never find out if I did something awful, or if something awful happened to me.  I’d rather not know.  I’d rather just see the world as it presents itself now.  Having you guys take me in . . . I feel like I’m off to a good start.  I feel like there’s hope for me.  And I obviously didn’t feel like that, before.  So I want to keep what I have now.  Do you see?”

 “Yeah, I see,” Harold said gruffly, clearing his throat, but he was smiling.  “What are you going to do about it, then?”

“I don’t—”

“He’s going to stay here,” Zack said.  Both Averil and Harold gave him startled looks.  “For now,” he added, his voice firm.  “Come to school with me tomorrow so you can get registered.  I don’t think you’ve graduated yet, or you wouldn’t have this.”  He tapped the notebook.

“I don’t want to be some kind of charity case—”

“Averil.  Could you help me out in the kitchen for a minute while Zack gets started on his homework?  Thanks.”

Curious at being cut off, Averil followed Harold into the kitchen, while Zack wordlessly got up and went to his room.  Harold walked all the way to the door, and grabbed his coat off the peg and put it on.  He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of the pocket and stepped outside, leaving Averil to follow him again.  Averil stayed silent while Harold lit up.

“Ah,” he sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke and steaming breath.

“Sir?”

“Listen, boy.  You’re not a charity case, all right?  Not to Zack.  He wants you here, for some reason that probably only makes sense to him.  It’s not his way to explain himself, you’ve seen that.  But he likes you, that’s clear.  And he wants you around.”

“And you, sir?”

“I certainly won’t argue about having such a good cook around,” Harold grinned, blowing out another cloud.  “I like you, boy, I really do.  You’ve got a good heart, and it was a really nice thing to hear you say that staying here makes you feel hopeful.  But I don’t care too much about myself, anymore.  I’m retired, I’m widowed, I’m old.  What I care about it my grandson discovering who he is.”

“Sir?”

“Do you know what the name William means—our last name?”

“No.”

“It means, ‘resolute guardian.’  Now, don’t take this the wrong way, and don’t get proud and embarrassed.  I’m just giving it to you straight, Averil.  Zack was made to protect something.  It’s just who he is.  I’m not sure he always understood it, but he was meant to be a protector of something.  The last few years, he’s just been drifting along without taking interest in anything.  Now he’s found something to protect.  It’s you, boy.”

Averil was so embarrassed that he couldn’t even argue.

“If you go, I think Zack is going to be pretty lost.  So will you.  You two are good for each other, whether you like it or not.  In short, stay.  This house is your home, now, if you want it to be.”

“So Zack says I should stay, and just like that, you’re convinced it’s the best thing?  You don’t even need to think about it?”

Averil suddenly found himself pulled forward and crushed in a pair of arms that were stronger than he’d expected.

“No need to think,” Harold said.  “I’m convinced.”

Averil clenched his hands into fists and tried desperately not to break down entirely.

“So long as you promise to keep cooking dinner, of course.”

He nodded frantically, and Harold gave him a thump on the back.

“Good.  That’s settled, then.  Better go shopping tomorrow, look for another bed.  You’re both too tall to sleep on the couch forever.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I do not actually know the legal process involved in gaining emancipation in the state of California (or at all) so I made these rules up. I hope no one is offended by that, I have nothing but enormous respect for anyone who goes through such a difficult situation at such a young age.


	5. Chapter 5

_February 2nd_

"Calling Lee Reed to the principal's office. Lee Reed to the principal's office, please."

Lee jerked in startlement, then turned to his history teacher with his eyebrows raised. The teacher waved his hand dismissively without even turning away from the map he was using to demonstrate his lecture. The little red dot of his laser pointer circled most of Eastern Europe, but Lee had tuned the lecture out as he slipped out of the room.

Why? He'd kept his nose clean ever since he'd gotten back into school . . . well, more or less. There  _had_  been a couple of people who thought the short kid who had a nerd-level interest in history and archaeology should be beaten up. They didn't know he'd been given a few pointers in fighting, and he'd put a stop to the bullies by the simple expedient of kicking their legs out from under them and walking away. A handful of detentions, but nothing serious.

So why was he being called to the principal's office  _now_?

Then he remembered.

They'd had a conversation.

Just weeks ago, when Ril had left his note and disappeared. Lee had gone to the principal and begged to be told if Ril came to the office, called the office, or anything of the sort. Principal Durham hadn't been able to promise anything.

" _It's confidential information. The only person I would be able to discuss it with would be his legal guardian, and since he doesn't have one of those . . ."_

" _But sir," Lee had protested, blinking back his tears. "Please."_

" _Listen, Mr. Reed. I like you and your brother, and I've been pretty impressed by the way you've shown me that you can handle the responsibility you were given. I want to be able to help you. Unfortunately, I can't. Officially, I can't do that."_

" _I understand, sir," Lee whispered, and turned to go._

" _Do you?" Durham asked, and tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth._

" _Sir?"_

" _Officially, I can't discuss a student's records with another student. But if some student were to accidentally overhear something . . . Well, there wouldn't be anything I could do about that."_

Lee started flat-out running. A teacher in the hall started hollering at him, but he didn't even call back an apology. He skidded into the office and stopped at the receptionist's desk, panting for breath.

She peered at him over the rims of her bifocals, her double chin receding into her neck to marK her disapproval. "Young man," she said soberly, and nothing else.

"Lee Reed," he managed. "You just called me."

"Ah. Yes. Mr. Durham would like to see you."

Lee waited for her to walk to the door that separated the office from the waiting area, so she could unlock it. He fidgeted impatiently. Just as she fit the key into the lock, a door was flung open and footsteps sounded. Lee couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the door, but he perked up.

"Mrs. Kinsey!" a voice bellowed out.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where's the paperwork for that transfer request, the one for that Reed kid?"

"It's right in the middle of your desk, Mr. Durham. I placed it there myself."

"Ha! And you expected me to find it in that clutter? Where is he transferring to, Mrs. Kinsey? Remind me."

"Sir," she said in a flat tone, no doubt indicating that she was at the door for a reason.

"Well, the school, woman, what school is he entering?"

"I believe Balboa," she said at last.

"Well, that's nice," Principal Durham said sweetly. "He's got remarkably good grades, for his situation, glad he got into a prep school like that. Still, what's wrong with  _our_  school?"

"I don't know, sir," Mrs. Kinsey answered, her voice still flat and unyielding. She was playing his game, but not willingly.

"Well, where's the other Reed boy, then? I sent for him ages ago!"

"On the other side of the door, sir," Mrs. Kinsey sighed, and then the lock turned and she pulled it open. She regarded him with a pinched expression, then plodded back to her desk. Principal Durham was there, winking at him.

"Come in, already. Be a good lad and pretend you didn't hear any of that, okay?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Lee said, unable to help a slightly giddy chuckle. Balboa. On the other side of town. Ril was there now **,** perhaps following that plan he'd said he had—he was real and tangible, he was  _alive._  That unexpected thought made Lee choke and stop where he was, fighting back a sob of relief. Ril was okay. He was transferring schools, but he was still in town.

Something was still obviously wrong. Ril didn't want to be near him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't even want him to know where he was. So that had to be resolved. But Ril was alive, and he was okay. That made all the difference.

"Have a seat in my office, Mr. Reed. I have something to discuss with Mrs. Kinsey, and I'll be just a minute."

Lee gratefully sank down in a chair and took the moment of privacy the principal had gifted him with. He buried his face in his hands and released that happy little sob. Then he scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles and tried to look less like an overemotional kid and more like the composed adult he was supposed to be. Mr. Durham came in and went through the motions of pretending that he'd called Lee for a meeting to make sure he was doing well in his classes and not experiencing any problems—preventative maintenance, he called it. But it lasted all of five minutes, and Lee was dismissed in time to catch the tail end of the lecture in history.

Mr. Killian gave him extra credit for giving his opinion, simply because he'd never seen anyone get so enthusiastic about the Holy Roman Empire.

* * *

They sort of fell through the door, laughing.

"But don't schools, like, report people for missing class?" Lee said, his high-pitched voice obviously an imitation of someone else. He was choking out his words past his laughter, and Sara was giggling uncontrollably. "They won't, like, handcuff you to make sure you, like, stay there?"

"Oh," Sara took up the imitation, smothering her laughter in Lee's shoulder. "Well, I hope you're okay. You know. Later. After you do that thing. That chemo-thing."

Still laughing, Lee turned his back to the sofa and dumped Sara off. She let go and fell onto the cushions willingly.

"Thanks for the piggyback ride," she grinned.

"I can't believe you're friends with that girl. She's so  _dumb_."

"We're not  _friends_ ," Sara stressed. "She's just on the dance team with me."

Lee flopped down beside her, opening his mouth to answer, but another voice cut through his.

"You two must have had a good day."

They both spun around to see Finn smiling at them over the open refrigerator door.

"Oh!" Sara gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "You scared me!"

"Hey," Lee greeted, less concerned. "I thought you were teaching a class today? Isn't your professor out of town?"

"No, he's back," Finn said, his head disappearing behind the door of the refrigerator again. "I kept thinking out loud about what we should have for dinner, so he told me to go home and just cook something so I'd stop making him hungry."

Lee was still laughing about Sara's dance team member, so it was no trouble to laugh some more. "Well? What  _are_  you having for dinner?"

"I have no idea," Finn said in an aggrieved voice. "Which is sad, because I was hoping to have something ready before you went to work."

"Oh. Well, I actually have to go in early, anyway. I just wanted to walk Sara home and change clothes. I'm leaving in just a minute."

"I'll save you some!" Finn said cheerfully, head popping up again.

Lee nodded his thanks, then turned and bowed to Sara and made her giggle, before heading for his room to change into work clothes.

"Why are you in such a good mood, Lee?" Finn called through the door.

"Balboa High School," Lee called back.

Finn turned quizzical eyes to Sara, who pantomimed zipping her lips and gave him an angelic smile. He shrugged and started pulling things out of the fridge. Lee almost crashed his way through the door just a few seconds later, now wearing black pants and a vest over the button-down shirt he'd worn to school.

"Have I thanked you lately for my job?" Lee grinned. Finn had not only found the job but had provided Lee's sole reference when Lee applied for it. Desk clerk at a hotel was not glamorous, but he did get to work on his homework when it wasn't busy.

"Yes, would you stop?" Finn said, sounding both proud and exasperated.

"Balboa," Lee said suddenly, "is where Ril just transferred to. Principal Durham made sure I overheard him talking about it today."

"Ril?" Finn repeated, eyes wide.

"We found him," Lee grinned.

Finn whooped in glee. "That's wonderful!"

Lee nodded in agreement, but then he sniffled and bent down to re-tie the lace on his shoe and clear his throat very suspiciously.

"You're going to leave him alone, huh?"

Lee straightened up, nodding again. "I decided. Till the end of the school year. If he doesn't call by summer, I'll go over there and find him."

Finn's smile was tinged with sadness, but he just ruffled Lee's hair and shoved a sandwich into his hands. "Here, take this and get going or you'll be late."

"Oh, wow, thanks Finn."

"What are mommies for?" he replied with a wink.

"Laugh it up, Finn, but if you ever start trying to kiss my owies, I'll start trying to kill you," Lee said, shoving half the sandwich into his mouth and running for the door. He parted with a brilliant smile in Sara's direction, but he was chewing and couldn't say anything.

"Bye, Lee! Be safe!" she called, smiling back.

Once the door was shut, she sighed deeply and leaned back against the cushions, the smile slipping from her face. Her treatment started tomorrow. She'd been trying so hard not to think of it, for Lee's sake, but as soon as he had gone, she felt it. It was as though when Lee was with her, he bore everything on his shoulders and she could be free. When they were apart, the weight fell on her again.

Then she realized she was still on his couch, in his apartment, with his roommate standing in the kitchen looking at her.

"You know why else he's happy?" she said, forcing another smile for Finn's benefit. "He got an A on his English essay."

Finn looked surprised. "I thought he was about to fail English."

"I think it might be that he didn't  _think_  he could get a good grade in that class," she said. "And the normal teacher doesn't work with him at all, even though she knows he was out of school for a while. She thinks he doesn't try or something. She thinks he's trouble, just because of his circumstances. But the substitute is kind to everyone. I really like her."

"What was Lee's essay about?"

Sara's eyes flicked to the side as she tried to come up with a good excuse not to tell him. Finn was a little too smart for that.

"Did he bring it home?"

Sara jumped to her feet to protect Lee's backpack. "Yes, but, I don't know, I don't think he'd want you to read it!"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" Finn said cheerfully.

Sara caved, and pulled the essay from the front pocket of Lee's backpack, where he'd shoved it after he'd shown her his triumph. She was too proud of him to allow him to keep it a secret. "See, she put the note on top telling him he's a gifted writer! Isn't that great?"

"It is," Finn assured her, his eyes flickering over the smudged and slightly crumpled page. His face paled suddenly. "His substitute teacher for English . . . That's Miss Elda, right?"

"Yes. She's really wonderful."

The look on Finn's face told Sara that he'd be cursing violently if she wasn't standing there.

"Is something wrong? You don't like what he wrote about you, do you? He was just being silly, you know, he really does like you . . ."

"I know," he said, giving her a brilliant smile of reassurance and reading on down the page. "She's right, he  _is_  pretty good. Oooo," he said suddenly, his eyes lighting up and looking at her. "He  _hopes_  you're his home—"

"Don't," she said desperately, covering her blushing cheeks with her hands. "He said— he just said that— we're close, that's all."

"Oh, I see," he said, but he was reading again. His teasing attitude dropped, and he sighed. "He misses Averil so much. I know how stressed out he's been, even if he does try to hide it. Poor kid."

Sara nodded soberly.

"He's worried about you, too," Finn said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "He would never tell you, but I have to force him to go to bed, lately. He stays up all night trying to research leukemia so he can help you."

Sara felt her breath getting tight in her chest, and she quickly dropped back onto the couch, worried that her legs weren't going to hold her. Lee . . .

"Hey, Finn," she whispered. "Lee says you've been so nice to him the last few weeks. He doesn't know what to think about you calling yourself 'mommy,' but . . . He said you'd make a pretty good one, if you were a girl."

Finn was very cautiously sitting down next to her. "Oh? That's sweet of him."

"Lee is wonderful, and Tom and Yuri are trying so hard, but none of them are . . ."

"Oh," Finn said quietly. "I see."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Now come here, princess."

Sara could barely see because her eyes were so full of tears that she was trying to keep from falling. But she felt Finn's hand on her back, pulling her toward him. When she felt the fabric of his shirt against her cheek, she let go of everything. Burying her face against his chest and losing her careful control within the circle of his arms, she wept. She was afraid, and she'd been keeping it in too long. Sometimes a girl just needed a mom, in whatever form they appeared.

* * *

_February 4_ _th_

Lee did a lot of pacing for the next few days. Sara was going to be at the hospital for three days to receive her first round of chemotherapy, just because it was going to be so intense, and she'd begged Lee not to go there. She didn't want him to see her that way. Tom would be with her the whole time, and he'd been pretty stern about Lee obeying Sara's wishes. He did let down his guard, somewhat, to say that he'd tell Lee the minute he brought Sara home.

Lee considered not going to school, since he couldn't concentrate anyway. Finn and Caleb wouldn't try to make him, he knew that. They had never pretended to be his parents, much as Finn might joke about it, and they never told him what he should be doing. They trusted him to figure it out on his own.

Maybe that was why he went to school. To prove that he could be trusted. To prove he was mature about making decisions. He wanted to be successful, he wanted to get into college. After the bad beginning, he would have to work really hard for the rest of high school to come out ahead. He couldn't really afford to skip. Even if he did spend the entire time distracted, restlessly tapping a pencil or staring out a window or poking morosely at his lunch.

His friends noticed. Rob tried to goad him into a fight, just to make him feel better, but he didn't take him up on it. Rob liked to fight a lot more than he did, probably because Rob had never  _had_  to do it. He mostly ignored them. With neither Sara nor Ril at school, it was a lonely place for him and made him realize that all the people he really cared about lived right beside him.

He thought Yuri must be feeling pretty lonely, too. They probably would have let him stay at the hospital with Tom and Sara, if he'd insisted on it. And to be fair, he was at the hospital a lot. But Tom wouldn't let him spend all his time there, insisting that Yuri was at a critical point in his studies and needed to stay focused and needed to be well-rested. Tom seemed almost as worried about Yuri as he was about Sara, in fact.

After school on the second day, Lee decided to make a brief visit to his neighbour and see if Yuri was okay. He knocked and thought he heard Yuri say to come in, albeit very quietly. He must be calling out from the bedroom, Lee thought, but when he opened the door he found Yuri sitting on the sofa. Strange.

Even stranger was the way Yuri was just sitting there. He wasn't really moving. He was just looking at Lee like he'd never seen him before. Except that he then said, "Hello, Lee." He sounded really tired. Lee felt a stab of pity. He'd been running back and forth between here, the university, and the hospital. Doing homework, bringing Tom a change of clothes or a textbook, all kinds of things.

"Hey, um, are you okay?" Lee frowned. He didn't like the way Yuri looked. He was really pale and he was still just sitting there.

"I think sho," Yuri slurred.

"Oh. Um. Yuri? Are you— have you been drinking?"

"Not that I remember," he said, suddenly sounding more coherent. "I'm just a little tired, I think. What brings you here, Lee?"

"Actually, I was going to see if you needed anything."

"And if I have news about Sara?" Yuri added, smiling sadly. "Nothing yet."

He suddenly slumped forward, and he would have hit the ground if Lee hadn't jumped to catch him. He pushed him back, made him lean on the armrest of the sofa.

"So dizzy," Yuri groaned.

"Yuri, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Oh, I know," Yuri said, sounding like he'd just discovered something but simultaneously like he was about to die of exhaustion. A little fizzle of triumph in the midst of failure. "I forgot to eat."

"Since when?"

"Oh . . . Maybe yesh—yeshterday. Been so bizzzzy."

"Uh, Yuri, what should I do? You look really bad."

"You have any candy?" he asked dreamily. He was turning gray, and Lee was beginning to panic. Candy? How in hell would candy help?

Lee got out his phone and called Sara's room at the hospital, praying that someone would be available to answer.

"Hello?" growled out a scratchy, tired voice.

"Tom?" Lee almost sobbed.

"God, kid, if this is you—"

"Tom, something's wrong with Yuri."

"What? What is it?"

"I don't know. I came over to see if he was okay, and he's not. He's turning a weird colour and he sounds like he's been drinking and I don't know what's wrong. He asked me if I have any candy."

"Do you know when he last ate?"

"I think he said yesterday. Tom, what do I do?"

"Shit, shit, shit," Tom snapped. Lee assumed that was not an answer to the question, merely an interjection. "We ran out of soda. You guys have some at your place?"

"Yes."

"Get him a soda  _now_. Make him drink the whole thing. And if you have anything else with a lot of sugar, make him eat it. Do it! Then call me back."

"Tom, what's—"

"He's fucking hypoglycemic and he's crashing. If you don't hurry up he's going to have to go to the hospital. Move it!"

Tom hung up on him. Lee dashed into his own apartment and grabbed a can of Mountain Dew with one hand and a cupcake Finn had just made with the other. He ran back to Yuri and tried to shove the items into his hands, but Yuri wasn't able to take them because his hands were shaking and he couldn't seem to lift his arms. Lee held the soda while Yuri drank it. Yuri moaned about being nauseated, but Lee coaxed him through the whole can, interspersed with bites of the cupcake. Yuri obediently swallowed when Lee gave him something, but he seemed too weak to take it into his own hands.

Once the sugary stuff was consumed, Lee called Tom again.

"It's about time," Tom snapped. "What did you give him?"

"A can of Mountain Dew and a cupcake," Lee said promptly. "Finn made it. It had sprinkles."

"Who cares about sprinkles? You're such a stupid brat," Tom said with passion. "Does he look any better?"

Yuri did, in fact, already look a little better. He wasn't that funny gray colour anymore, and he was breathing more normally. His eyes were closed, though, and he was hanging awkwardly over the arm of the sofa.

"A little," Lee said, trying not to make it a squeak. Tom sounded really, really upset.

"Good. Now listen. Do you need a pen to write this down?"

"Just tell me, Tom," Lee sighed. Even now, he had to insult him?

"Yuri needs to lay there for a little while and rest. Give him a glass of water, let him metabolize the sugar. Then he needs to eat a full meal, something pretty well balanced. I want him to stay with you guys tonight so you can keep an eye on him. Make him have something else with sugar before he goes to sleep. Don't let him go to his first class tomorrow, don't let him set an alarm clock. He needs to sleep as long as his body wants to sleep. When he does get up, he needs another good meal. You got all that?"

"Meal now, sugar before bed, sleep, then breakfast."

"Good. Okay. Aw, hell. I wish I was there, but I can't leave Sara right now . . ."

"Yuri will understand," Lee assured him. "I'll make sure of everything, Tom, I promise."

"I gotta say, I'm glad it happened there, with you. Not at school or something. He lost his medical ID tags almost two weeks ago. If he'd done this there, no one would know what was wrong. At least you knew to call me."

Lee used his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear, so he could bend down and grab Yuri's legs and lift them onto the sofa. When he was grasping Yuri's ankles, a flash of light caught his eye. He fumbled under the sofa and came up with something that looked like a dog tag, a flat bit of metal on a chain.

"Oh. Uh, Tom, I think I just found his ID. It was under your sofa."

Tom's only response was more swearing.

"I'm going now," Lee said. "I'm going to get him that water. Don't worry, okay? I'll stay with him and I'll bring him over to my place as soon as he can get up without passing out."

"Put him on the phone," Tom demanded.

Lee shrugged, and held his phone out. "Yuri? Tom wants to talk to you."

"Mmm. Okay," Yuri muttered, not opening his eyes as he held out one hand. Lee dropped the cell into it, and Yuri managed to get it to his ear. "Tom? I know I'm an idiot, you don't have to tell me."

Lee couldn't help chuckling as he went to the kitchen and looked for a cup.

"No, it's okay. No. You need to be there. Stay with her. I'll be fine. I  _know_ , Tom, but don't worry. Lee is doing a good job."

Lee looked over at the sound of his name and returned the smile Yuri was giving him.

"Yes. I will. Not a problem, Finn makes delicious cupcakes."

Now Lee laughed, handing the water to Yuri, who sipped at it while he talked. His hand was still shaky, so Lee kept a close eye on him in case it looked like he was going to drop the cup. He sat down on the floor beside his neighbour. He looked at the tag he'd found under the sofa, which had Yuri's name, stated his medical condition, and also had Tom's name and phone number on it. He thought about getting one for Ril. Then he remembered that Ril was gone because he didn't want to be Lee's responsibility anymore, and he ducked his head down and fought tears.

He looked up when Yuri put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, okay?" Yuri said, handing him his phone back. "This isn't the first time I've been through this. You did great."

Lee kept his thoughts about his brother to himself. "Uh, thanks. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just run a marathon," Yuri answered ruefully. "But better than I did. Don't worry about what Tom says, you don't have to babysit me all night. I'll be fine here."

Lee stood up. "Ha. I don't think so. Can you get up?"

"Only if the building is on fire," Yuri sighed. "I'm just going to lay here for a while, then I'll get up and have something to eat. I promise."

"Nope. Tom would kill me. Come on." Lee bent down and put his arm around Yuri. "Put your arm over my shoulders, I'm going to help you up." He thought that would make it pretty clear that there was no point to Yuri arguing with him. It seemed to work, because Yuri accepted his help in standing, then he managed to walk next door on his own. He collapsed onto their sofa as soon as he could, though.

"Wow," he moaned, putting his arm over his eyes. "I haven't crashed this bad since high school. I'm so embarrassed."

"You sure you're okay? Do you want another soda or something?"

"Do you have some kind of juice? We do, if you don't."

"We have orange juice," Lee said, and quickly fetched it. He was very eager to do whatever it took. He just didn't want to see Yuri's skin get clammy and have him go that deeply frightening gray colour again. "I don't think we have any real food, though. We always get groceries on the weekend. I'll call Caleb and tell him to go to the store."

"No, don't do that," Yuri protested. "You can take anything you want out of our kitchen."

Lee didn't even want to leave him alone long enough to take a look. And he wasn't about to call Finn, since he was a little apprehensive about Finn's idea of a healthy meal. So he called Caleb and explained the situation. As he expected, Caleb blustered about it for a minute but was already pulling into the parking lot of a grocery store by the time Lee finished explaining. Lee felt privileged, as he always did, that he was part of the inner circle: he got to see past Caleb's gruff and short-tempered outer shell, ignore his intimidating size and strength, and see what Caleb was really like. Much as Caleb would like to believe the outer shell was all there was to him, Lee was beginning to see what a deeply caring and intuitive person he was.

He proved it later that night, after Finn had come home from work and they all headed for bed, and Yuri tried to go home. Caleb just shoved him back down onto the sofa and threw a blanket over his head and told him not to be an idiot, which somehow convinced Yuri to stay and be looked after. And Lee saw Caleb leave his bedroom door open a crack, just in case.

* * *

_February 5_ _th_

Since Yuri was able to rest so well at their place, he ended up waking up naturally and still being in time to go to class. Finn made him eat a huge pile of toast and eggs and about three glasses of orange juice before he'd let him go back to his own apartment to change clothes, though, and then Finn gave him a ride to school, since Tom had the car at the hospital. Some guys (that is, Caleb) might consider getting a ride in a blue VW Beetle a threat to their masculinity, but it didn't seem to bother Yuri.

Lee left only five minutes after they did, leaving Caleb alone for an hour before his first class. But he was barely off apartment property before Caleb pulled his bike up to the curb and tossed him the extra helmet.

"Here. I'm giving you a ride."

"Why are you leaving so early?" Lee asked as he pulled the helmet on.

"Need to put some air in my tires before class. Hop on. And hold on, there's not much room back there."

"Just don't kill me, okay?" Lee said nervously, climbing on to the very tiny bit of leather behind Caleb and hoping Caleb didn't gun it and send him somersaulting off the back. This thing was not really meant for passengers.

He needn't have worried, considering that Caleb drove just as well as he did everything else—everything but emote, anyway. And his cool factor went up by about a billion points when his classmates saw him slide off the gorgeous red-and-black sport bike and remove the helmet.

"Hang on to that, I'll pick you up after school."

Lee frowned at him. "Why? I walk every day."

Caleb shrugged uncomfortably and gazed off down the street. "Just thought you'd want to be home early. Cause you don't know what time Sara's getting back."

Lee realized suddenly that this was Caleb's way of being supportive, and decided he'd better not mention the ride to Finn, because Finn would never let Caleb live it down.

"Oh, thanks," he said breezily, trying not to embarrass Caleb. "See you around four, then."

Caleb gunned it in his hurry to escape the moment, and roared off so quickly that if anyone else had been driving, Lee would have been worried about an accident. He tucked the helmet under his arm, wondering if it would fit into his locker, and strolled into school smirking at the looks he was getting. Rob was really the only person here that knew anything about Lee, the rest of them found him something of a mystery. They knew he was some kind of delinquent who had briefly dropped out, but that was it.

A couple of people pounced on him as he was walking.

"Who was  _that_?"

"My roommate."

"You have a roommate? Wait, aren't you, like, sixteen?"

"Yeah."

"You don't live with your parents or anything?"

"My parents are dead. I live with that guy and one other roommmate. They're both in college."

"But, well, how do you . . .?"

"I have a job."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"What?"

"Aren't you supposed to go to a home or something if your parents die? How did you wind up with roommmates?"

Lee rolled his eyes and tossed the helmet into his locker. "Would you rather go into foster care and have to make nice with fake parents, or get a job and a couple of roommates?"

"Oh. Good point."

Rob came up to him and tried to punch him, but Lee blocked it deftly. "What's up, Rob?"

"I  _saw_  it," he said, eyes wide, almost salivating. "Caleb's bike."

"Yeah?"

"Lee. It's a top-of-the-line Suzuki GSXR—hey, how many CC's does he have?"

"I don't know, Rob," Lee sighed, sidestepping a kick designed to make him fall over.

"But—don't you  _care_?"

"Not especially."

"Oh. Sorry, man. I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"That your girl is coming home today. You're probably a little distracted, huh?"

Lee had nothing to say that wouldn't come out slightly more angry than he intended. All he said was, "She's not my girl."

"You're just gonna space out all day, huh? Don't worry, I'll try to cover for you in class. Come on, we're late for Geometry."

Lee decided that Rob, as crazy as he was, wasn't so bad as a friend. He'd effectively blocked everyone else's questions as soon as he walked up, and his distracting tendency to try to hurt Lee might actually be good for him today. Still, even with Rob's help, he barely made it through the day. He was too worried about Sara.

He'd been studying what he could, almost obsessively, ever since they'd heard the diagnosis. He'd read every article he could find on the internet about Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, and about the treatment involved. Lee had known almost before Sara did that she would spend the next month in an aggressive few-days-on, few-days-off cycle of chemotherapy treatments to destroy the leukaemia. Then there would be another four to six months of less aggressive but still intense treatment that would wipe out the remaining traces and put her into remission. Then for the next couple of years, she'd have to go back for regular checkups and treatments to ensure that she stayed that way.

Hopefully.

Unless the first six months didn't go well.

If that didn't work, they'd have to look into even stronger medication, or even bone marrow transfers. It was going to get ugly either way, but Lee didn't want to see it get that ugly. But it didn't matter how sick she got, how long it took, none of it would change that Lee was going to be there for her. For the next few months, he planned to be at her side at every possible moment. And for the next few years, he'd be strong for her while she waited for proof that she was really healed. Together forever wasn't a bad plan, either.

So when Caleb pulled into their apartment complex, Lee barely waited for him to stop the bike before he was jumping off it and running upstairs. He slung his backpack in the vague direction of his own front door and knocked on Sara's. Yuri pulled it open.

"Hi, Lee."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Yuri smiled. "Come in. They're on their way here, they should be arriving any minute."

"Oh. Okay."

Yuri had been busy, it seemed.

"We wanted to be sure she'd be comfortable, if she felt like being out here to watch t.v. or something," Yuri explained. "So I made her a bed on the couch."

Several blankets and pillows were laid out neatly, just waiting for her. The small coffee table held a glass full of crushed ice, a book that Sara had been reading, and an empty mixing bowl. Lee winced when he realized why that was there.

"I don't know how she's feeling right now," Yuri answered Lee's unspoken question. "When I talked to Tom, he just said they were on their way. He sounds really tired. I made some food, just a few light things, but I don't know if she'll be hungry."

"What about you?" Lee asked. "You've eaten, right?"

Yuri blushed a little. "Yeah. Listen, Lee, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to be such a bother, I—"

"It wasn't a bother. I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm so embarrassed that you saw that."

"Don't be, just promise that you're going to take care of yourself."

The doorknob rattled, and Lee leapt to open it. Yuri was only a step behind him. Tom came in carefully, holding Sara in his arms like a child. She had her face turned toward him, giving them a view of the back of her head. Her hair looked limp and messy. Lee's eyes locked on to her and followed her as Tom set her down on the bed Yuri had made.

Then he spun around and strode to Yuri, bringing his hands up and cupping Yuri's face in them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Yuri said.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, look at me."

"I wasn't here."

"You can't be everywhere," Yuri said gently, putting his hands on Tom's outstretched arms. "She needed you more than I did. I'm back to normal, I promise."

Tom slid his hands around to the back of Yuri's neck and pulled his head closer, pressing their cheeks together. "Don't scare me like that," he murmured.

Lee crouched down beside Sara. She was awake.

"Hi," she said, trying to smile at him. She looked awful. Her eyes and her skin and the way she smiled all made her look frail and exhausted. Like a sick person. "Oh, Lee, don't look at me," she whispered, covering her face with her hands.

Lee pulled them away, and softened the gesture by kissing her fingers. "Please don't hide."

"I look so ugly."

"You will never look ugly. Never. I'm glad you're home."

"For a few days, anyway."

"Get as much rest as you can, okay? I'll be here with you. If you need anything, just ask me."

"Thank you, Lee," she sighed, and closed her eyes. Lee stayed beside her, her hand still clutched in his while he watched her doze.

Yuri and Tom seemed to be bickering over something. Lee tuned in to see what it was.

"You're exhausted, Tom. I can tell."

"I'm not the one who had a blood sugar crash yesterday."

"No, you're the one who's just spent three days nursing his sister through chemotherapy."

"I'm fine for a while. You need to rest."

"Tom, I can rest just fine while keeping an eye on her. You need to sleep."

"Hey, guys?" Lee said mildly.

"What?"

"You can both go get some rest. I'm going to stay here with her."

Tom scowled at him. "She needs—"

"She needs to rest, she needs any food or water I can get her to take, and she needs quiet. I can handle that for a few hours. Go on, we'll be fine out here."

Tom was still scowling while Yuri shoved him into their bedroom, declaring that they were  _both_  going to take a nap if that was what it took to make Tom shut up. They had roused Sara, who blinked in confusion at her hand, intertwined with Lee's.

"That feels nice," she stated simply.

"Sara? Can I get you anything to eat?"

"No," she said, sounding repulsed.

_Patient may experience a loss of appetite . . ._

"Okay. Have a little of this, then." Lee reached for the glass of half-melted ice, and she obediently sipped at it, then grimaced and gave it back to him. "Just rest, okay?"

She closed her eyes again. Lee sat on the floor, holding her hand and watching the television on mute. He stayed that way for close to an hour before she roused again.

"Tom?" she groaned without even opening her eyes.

"It's Lee," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Lee, I . . . I don't feel good, I think I'm going to—"

Lee had already pulled her to her feet and drawn her against his side, and he hurried her down the hall to the bathroom. They'd barely cleared the door before she lost control, but she managed to throw herself onto her knees and just about fall into the toilet before she started puking. Lee tried desperately to keep from getting nauseated himself, looking up at the ceiling and breathing shallowly. He held her hair away from her face, grabbed a washcloth and patted it on her clammy neck and forehead.

"I don't want you to see this," she cried. Then she puked again. She wasn't bringing up much.

"Sara, I'm here to help, no matter what," he said gently, going onto one knee so he could wipe her face with the washcloth. He dabbed the sweat from her temples, then softly wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I don't think you're ugly, Sara. Not even now. I want to stay with you."

She heaved again, even though there was nothing left in her stomach.

_Common side effects include: nausea and vomiting . . ._

Lee helped her get into her own bed in her room, making sure she was well covered by blankets since she'd started shivering. This was going to be a very hard month.


	6. Chapter 6

_February 7th_

Averil's first day at his new school was tomorrow. He was very nervous about it— not that he was going to tell anyone so. It was like someone had pressed "Restart" on some video console, except that it was his life. He was restarting everything, and he barely knew what that meant.

New home. New school. New outlook on the world. New set of memories that he was only just starting to build.

No wonder he was terrified.

He was currently cooking dinner, trying to keep his mind off his nerves. Harold said their neighbour wanted to come over and meet Averil, and she was excited because Harold had told her that he was a good cook. Harold seemed to really like this neighbour—she was the one who ran the antique store—so Averil was anxious to make a good impression. He had stuffed mushrooms and baked brie for appetizers, and he was making a pork roast and baby potatoes and he had a plate full of fresh fruit and cubes of angel food cake to dip in chocolate for dessert.

He was running around the kitchen, fully aware that he looked like a psycho. Harold was in the doorway laughing at him, but he tried to ignore that.

"Only thing she's going to care about is the wine pairing," Harold informed him. "Can I help?"

"No, everything's fine!" Averil said, shoving the freshly prepared fruit into the refrigerator and dashing over to the oven to check on the brie. Then it was back to the fridge, because he'd forgotten about the cucumber he was going to slice to put on the salad he had already prepared. He yanked it out and began slicing it very rapidly. Harold left the room so he wouldn't get run over and killed.

It occurred to Averil to wonder where he'd learned all ofthis. Harold had asked him, but he didn't know the answer. Thinking about it had given him that uneasy feeling, like figuring it out would hurt. But now he wondered as he poked at a potato to see how much longer it needed to cook.

Books. A parade of books flashed before his eyes, and a hundred t.v. shows with a hundred smiling faces. It was a random assault of images that made him close his eyes and grab onto the front of the stove for support. It was a bunch of memory all at once, and it made his head hurt viciously.

"I taught myself out of cookbooks?" he muttered. "And television?" He lifted one hand from gripping the stove to rub at his forehead. "I'm a freaking genius."

"Not smart enough," drawled a voice directly beside him, and a hand clutched on his arm and yanked him backward. He was so surprised he practically jumped out of his skin.

"GOD, ZACK!" he hollered. "Don't DO that!"

Zack didn't respond, reaching past him to shut the door of the oven. Averil frowned, and looked down at himself. There was a brown line on the front of his white shirt. He'd been leaning in too far because of the memory assault, and he'd burnt his shirt. Another minute and there'd have been a burnt strip across the skin of his stomach. He ought to thank Zack for pulling him back, but the words stuck in his throat.

"And now I ruined one of the three shirts I own," he sighed, feeling defeated.

"Oh," Zack said, and turned around left the room.

"I can't tell if he's retarded or what," Averil said aloud in frustration. What the hell kind of response was that to anything? He tossed the cucumber slices onto the salad bowl in the fridge.

Zack came back, holding a shopping bag of some kind. "I forgot to give this to you earlier."

"What? What is it?"

"It's for you."

"Helpful, Zack!" Averil snapped, yanking his appetizers out of the oven. "I don't have  _time_  right now!"

The front door could be heard to open and close and rich, almost sensual laughter flowed toward them from the entryway. The neighbour was here. Zack, unperturbed as ever, scooped up Averil's appetizers and slid them onto the waiting tray, while they could hear Harold asking for her coat and having her sit down.

"I'll take care of these," he said—just a bit unnecessarily, Averil thought snottily. If he only opened his mouth to point out the obvious, then maybe he should just take a vow of silence. He headed for the living room before Averil could offer this helpful advice.

Averil realized that the food in the oven needed another ten minutes or so, and that the salad was ready, so he suddenly had the time he'd just been saying he didn't have. He curiously peeked into the shopping bag Zack had left on the counter.

And tried to swallow the brick in his throat.

It was full of clothes.

Zack had gone out and bought Averil a bunch of clothes. He'd noticed that Averil didn't have anything, and he'd gone shopping for him. Averil had just yelled at him for it. But then Zack had just taken the mushrooms and the brie and gone into the other room, so maybe it didn't really bother him. Plus he hadn't come back to see if Averil needed any other help, the bastard.

Ten minutes seemed like a long time to sit with the others and not apologize. Since he wouldn't be apologizing. He figured he could just remain in the kitchen and have Harold tell their guest that art like Averil's cooking couldn't be left alone. Yeah, he'd just hide in the kitchen.

"Hey."

"When will you figure out my name?" Averil snapped.

"Come on, she wants to meet you. She thinks the food is really good."

And somehow Averil found himself following Zack into the other room, despite his desire to remain hidden. Oh, wait, he was trying to hide from Zack, not from the neighbour. He put on a polite expression as he entered the room.

She was . . . Well, she was clearly female. Practically spilling out of her blouse, in fact. Half of her long, dark hair was coiled up behind her head, while the other half was falling freely over her shoulders. She was tall and slender and she was wearing a skirt that showed off almost as much as it covered. Averil felt a deep consternation at all of this—she was forty if she was a day. Way too old to be dressing like that.

"What happened to your shirt, boy?" Harold asked, before introductions could begin.

"Oh," Averil sighed, reminded. "The oven. I—I had some memories—it was like they attacked me, really, I thought I was going to fall over—" Then he stopped and stared at the lady and blushed. She would think he was a real nutcase. Had Harold warned her about him?

"That's good, though," Harold said, obviously not caring if the neighbour thought this was all insane. "What kind of memories?"

Averil shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Nothing important. I think I used to go to the library a lot."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Zack said. Averil tried to smack him, but Zack just took a lazy step backward, out of his reach.

"Anyway, all that aside . . . This is Yvonne. Yvonne, meet Averil."

"Just your friendly, neighbourhood psycho," Averil sighed, holding out his hand to shake hers.

She grinned at him, and shook his hand, and sparked a massive assault on his brain.

His fingers slipped away, and he clutched for something to support him. It hurt. Oh, god, how it hurt. His head was screaming. It felt like there were bright lights flashing in his eyes. It was like that car was running into him all over again, he felt like he was spinning in the air like that, smacking his head, landing and having his breath whoosh out, felt the blackness closing over his vision—

"Hey!" Zack said sharply.

Hands on him. He opened his eyes to find himself gripping Zack's arms, and Zack's hands were gripping him uncomfortably under his jaw, raising his face. He wasn't breathing so well, he didn't think. His chest hurt. He felt extremely dizzy.

"Snap out of it," Zack demanded.

"Not a panic attack," Averil mumbled, squinting as the flashes faded away. "Just . . . Hurts."

Then he realized that he was using Zack to hold himself up and they were practically embracing. He scrambled backward as quickly as he could.

"Why are you touching my FACE?"

Then he spun around to see if Yvonne had run away and if Harold was angry that Averil had ruined their dinner. Yvonne was still sitting there, looking at him with an oddly shrewd expression.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

Dang, even her voice was all sultry. Gross.

"No," Averil snapped. "Why should I?"

"Yes, why should he?" Harold repeated suspiciously.

"Because I was there when you got hit by that car," she answered, her slightly heavy eyelids somehow even making  _that_  seem sexy. God, what was  _with_  her?

That thought made his head start thumping again, so he forced it away. Apparently, speculating on Yvonne's creepy cougar act made him get the Bad Memories Attack.

"I thought perhaps you were having a physical memory of the accident by looking at me," she went on. "Have you ever heard of that? Body memories, as opposed to mental memories?"

Averil shook his head. "No."

"Speaking of memories, you forgot about dinner," Zack said suddenly.

"Oh, crap!" Averil squawked, and raced back into the kitchen to remove the pork and potatoes. He was just in time, they looked perfect. "I have to get everything on the table!"

"Averil," Harold called out. "We're still working on the stuff in here, just relax for a minute."

"But . . ."

"You just had some kind of massive brainwave, you should sit down," Harold insisted as Averil walked back toward them reluctantly. Averil obediently took a seat. "Yvonne, you ought to tell Averil about your business, I think he'd like it."

Averil had to admit to curiousity about her antique store, but he wondered why Harold knew that.

"Oh?" was Yvonne's response.

"Caught him reading a book of Civil War ghost stories, that one you gave me as a gag gift," Harold continued. "You've got quite a collection of Civil War stuff, don't you?"

"I do."

And Yvonne launched into a description of her shop, punctuated every ten seconds with a command that Averil come visit her as soon as he was able—she'd started off with "tomorrow" until she'd been informed that Averil was going to school tomorrow.

"Of course, call before you come by to be sure I'm there," she said, still chattering about it as they took their seats in the dining room to eat. "My nephew Mike works there, and I sometimes have to leave him in charge while I check on my tenants. I also manage apartments, you see—"

Averil was certain he saw her give him a sly, sideways glance when she said that, but he forgot it quickly as his head was slammed with stunning pain again and he fell into his seat with a groan. What  _was_  it with everything this lady said setting off the Attack?

"Hey, Averil," Harold said sharply. "Maybe you should go lie down for a while. Or . . . I mean, maybe we ought to take you to the emergency room for a scan. I'm not comfortable with this."

"I'm fine," Averil insisted, raising his head and giving Harold a smile of gratefulness for his concern. "See? Come on, I'm not going to miss out on my own meal!"

They tucked in, with many compliments to the chef. Averil was glad that even if he was making Yvonne think he was crazy, he was proving his usefulness as a houseguest. But after a minute, a hand on his wrist arrested the progress of his fork. Zack was holding him tight.

"What?" Averil snapped.

"Go get your inhaler," Zack said soberly.

Damn. He thought he'd been doing a better job of hiding it, but the last mental assault had been too much. You could actually sort of hear his breath whistling because the passage in his throat had become so narrow. He was having difficulty swallowing, but he hadn't wanted anyone to notice.

"Fine," Averil snapped, getting up.

"You were just waiting for me to tell you?" Zack asked, voice slightly tinged with amusement.

Averil stomped off, muttering, mostly to himself, "I didn't want to spoil everyone's night." He'd been keeping the inhaler in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, so he went there, fuming that Zack had called attention to his problems even more than was necessary. It made him look so stupid.

 

* * *

 

 

In the dining room, Zack was swearing softly under his breath, which his dinner companions couldn't help but notice. He saw them looking at him.

"He's an idiot," Zack said severely.

"He is that," Harold agreed.

Yvonne's smile was creating crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "I'm beginning to see." Those eyes were twinkling with humour. "You're awfully sweet to worry about him."

Zack just frowned down at his plate. "No one else is going to do it, right?"

"Oh, I think it's more than that," Yvonne murmured as Zack cleared his own plate so he could go look for Averil, who was clearly hiding in the bathroom out of embarrassment. She looked at Harold quite seriously. "I think he's just the right person for the job."

Harold scrubbed his hand over his jaw. "I'm worried about them."

"They're going to be fine," Yvonne pronounced.

They each ate a bit more, then Harold pushed his plate back. "I need a cigarette. Come on, let's have a smoke on the porch."

Yvonne raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "Since when do you smoke outside?"

"Shh, not so loud," Harold said, standing up, waiting for Yvonne to follow suit. "Got a freaking asthmatic kid living here, I'm not gonna smoke in the house anymore. Not gonna tell him that, either, because he'd go crazy about being an inconvenience to me."

They went outside, and Zack, who had waited just inside the kitchen listening, finally went to look for the idiot. He found him pretty easily. Hard to miss a guy sitting on the bathroom floor with his head between his knees, surrounded by scattered detritus.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to pass out," Averil mumbled.

"What is all this?"

"I accidentally—" Deep inhale, sounded awful. "Knocked the shelf—" Another deep breath, even worse. "Out of the— cabinet," he finished on a squeezed cough. "Can't find it. My medicine."

"You could have yelled at me to come help you. You yell at me all the time."

"Can't—" Deep inhale. "Yell. Right now."

Zack tried not to feel extremely uneasy about that. Because he was the calm one. Averil was the one who flipped out. They had to stick to their roles, because it worked so well. And so far, they hadn't seen an out-and-out panic attack. Zack was hoping to keep that streak going, so he took this with the same calm he took everything else. Even if, in this case, he didn't really feel all that calm. People suffocating to death in his bathroom was not good—no, scratch that. Averil.  _Averil_ suffocating in his bathroom was what made him feel so not-calm.

"Tch." That was all he could think to say. "Can't leave you alone for a minute." He knelt down to start sifting through the crap on the floor, and therefore was close enough to see that Averil was wide-eyed with fear.

"You're such—" Breathing. "A bastard."

He was shaking, too, Zack noticed.

"I know I'm useless." A few ugly-sounding coughs. "You don't have to— point it out."

"Are you panicking?" Zack asked in his most mild voice.

"Yes," Averil whimpered. "I can't.  _Breathe_."

"Here," Zack said, triumphantly clutching the inhaler and handing it over. For a minute, he thought he was going to have to administer the medicine himself, like that first day, but Averil stilled his hands and managed it himself. Zack waited with the utmost patience for a full minute before he said, "Better?"

"Yeah," Averil said.

His breathing didn't sound any less painful, despite what he said. "Still panicking?"

"Yeah," Averil whispered.

Oh, that was why. Not good. "Do you have medication for that?"

Averil snorted. "No. I probably should. I think there's anti-anxiety stuff you can take. But I can't afford to go to the doctor." He met Zack's eyes, then, stunned. "Hey. I knew that. I know something about myself."

"What's so great about knowing something like that?" Zack muttered, very disheartened that if Averil was having a panic attack, there was nothing he could do about it.

"What is your PROBLEM?" Averil snapped. "Haven't you ever heard if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?"

Maybe he should have said he was worried about the attack, instead of about how sad it was that Averil couldn't afford doctor's bills. Looking at that, he hadn't made himself very clear. This was why he hated talking to people. Probably too late to fix it now, though.

"I'll tell Grandfather," he said instead. "He would—"

"NO!" Averil yelped. Then he burst into tears.

"Hey." But Averil just huddled in on himself and started shaking, not just from tears but from nerves. "Hey," he tried again, but it didn't work, not even when he smacked Averil on the head. "Um, stop," he ventured, and even went so far as to put his hand on Averil's back. But that just made him able to feel how rapidly the other boy's heart was beating.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate this, I really hate this," Averil muttered, over and over. "I hate doing this, oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I just don't want to be a burden. Don't tell Harold."

Zack didn't think there was much he could do about this, short of clobbering Averil into unconsciousness. While he reserved that as an option, he thought it probably shouldn't be the first one. So he settled down on the floor next to him, leaning his back on the cabinet under the sink. He left his hand on Averil's back. Not really sure what to do, but knowing he'd seen girls doing this when people were crying, he started moving his hand in a circle.

While he sat there, rubbing a circle over Averil's back, he contemplated what school would be like tomorrow. For a moment. Then he told himself that what will be, will be, and there was no point worrying about it. He noticed that Averil was calming down, though, so he kept moving his hand slowly.

" _Panic attack."_  The name itself suggested that just keeping his hand in that rhythm would help. It would probably be good if he talked, even though he didn't want to. He always felt stupid when he talked.

"Just stop thinking about that stuff," Zack said finally. "About being a burden or whatever, and about how much you hate having these. Just think about something else. You can breathe now, so you don't even have a reason to be afraid anymore."

His breathing grew slow and even, and he wasn't shaking or crying anymore. He still didn't lift his head, but Zack figured that was just due to embarrassment. "Better?"

"Yeah, Lee, I'm good now," he mumbled.

Zack frowned. "What did you call me?"

Averil raised his head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, frowning with confusion. "Uh, didn't I call you Zack?"

Zack decided that whoever Lee was, making a point of it now was just going to give Averil another one of those headache attack things. "Yeah, guess I just didn't hear you."

He stood up. "Come on."

"Yvonne is probably still out there," Averil said, looking at the floor.

"So?"

"So she's your neighbour and she wanted to meet your houseguest and I embarrassed everybody."

"Yvonne doesn't care. Come on."

There was no arguing with Zack when he got like this, although Averil did grumble all the way back to the kitchen about his level of sensitivity (somewhere in the subzero range) and his ability to know what Yvonne was thinking (an impossibility) and that furthermore he was a jerk and Averil hadn't asked for his help in the first place and he shouldn't have followed him.

Zack tuned him out, knowing it was just because he was too embarrassed to say thank you. He even considered plugging his ears to make his point, but Averil was likely to take that the wrong way. It wasn't that Zack didn't care what he felt. It was just that Zack wanted him to be honest about it. Was that really so much to ask?

It wasn't worth bringing up now. If he started Averil on some kind of rant, he wouldn't get to try the angel food cake, and he wanted to see if Averil made dessert as well as he made dinner.

 

* * *

 

 

_February 8_ _th_

Averil looked at the school building and stopped in his tracks.

Zack stopped **,**  too, and just looked at him. Why ask the question aloud when his flat expression would do just as well? Or at least that's what Averil imagined he was thinking, and he imagined that the question was  _"What's wrong with you now?"_

He stared up at the historic architecture, framed by tall trees, and tried to breathe **.**  He touched his pocket to be sure that his inhaler was there. He'd already been here once before, to meet the principal and arrange for his transfer. But this was different. Now he had to start worrying about interacting with other students and keeping impeccable grades. Sure, he remembered how to cook—but what if he'd forgotten how to do math or something?

"Coming?" Zack asked.

Averil smacked him. "You could show a little sensitivity! Maybe I'm nervous, did that occur to you?"

Zack started walking, his expression not changing in the slightest. "Maybe you should stop underestimating me."

Averil was, to say the least, startled by that, since Zack so rarely said anything of the kind. But what he'd said could be taken two ways, couldn't it? He could be saying that of course he'd noticed Averil was nervous (which would mean he didn't care), or he could be saying that he considered himself capable of handling all of Averil's problems and there was no reason to be nervous (which was . . . weird to think about).

Whichever way he'd meant it, he was still, quite literally, one of the only people that Averil knew, and it made him nervous to watch him walk off like that. He hurried to catch up, and he was so intent on doing so that he forgot to be afraid as he passed into the grandiose old building.

He'd already had a tour of the school campus, but he stuck close to Zack nonetheless. It wasn't a matter of getting lost. It was a matter of  _feeling_  lost, which Zack was good at dispelling. Not that he would ever tell Zack something like that. Zack, however, didn't seem to need to be told, since he was keeping an eye on Averil and trying to stay with him. They went directly to their first classroom, despite the fact that people were attempting to greet Zack in the halls.

Zack wasn't exactly giving him a tour or anything, since he didn't say a word except "Good morning" to the people they passed. But he did get them safely to class, and Averil dropped gratefully into a seat. He considered for a moment to see if he was okay without his inhaler, and he decided he was. He  _really_  needed to do something about his asthma and his anxiety being so closely linked. He was going to give himself a heart attack one of these days.

"Zack! Good morning!"

"Hey, Sunny," Zack responded, with the closest thing to a smile Averil had seen from him today. He was sitting down at the desk in front of Averil, but he stopped to receive an exuberant hug from someone.

Averil looked up in curiosity. And felt his entire world shift slightly on its axis. She was beautiful. No, she wasn't beautiful, that didn't do justice to her. She was just . . . perfect. Her hair was long and black and riotously curly and her face was delicate and sculpted and she—well, he was a teenager, these things were important—she was nicely proportioned, to say the least.

"Are you  _him_?" the girl asked in a stage whisper.

Oh. Him. She was asking him.

"Uh, I don't know. A-a-am I?" Oh god, he was stammering like an idiot.

"Oh, you're wearing the shirt I picked out!" she said in delight. "Of course you're him!"

Averil fingered the shirt he was wearing for a moment, one of the things that had been in the bag Zack had shoved at him yesterday. "Oh. Um, you picked this out? I, um, well, Zack didn't tell me he had  _help_ ," he said with a vicious look at the unflappable guy, who didn't even respond.

"Zack was worried that you wouldn't like them, so he asked me to come with him," the vision of beauty said, taking the chair next to him and talking as comfortably as if they'd been best friends for years.

"Thank you," Averil sighed in happiness. She was sitting with him and talking to him and she picked out clothes for him and she was perfect and—

Oh,  _god_. That meant she  _knew_. She knew about him being homeless and having amnesia and everything. As if his face wasn't red enough already. He covered his face with his hands and tried to wish for a black hole to appear under his chair.

"Anyway, I'm Sunny. Your name is Averil, right?"

"Yeah," he managed to mumble.

"Zack told me that you're staying with him and his grandfather right now. His grandfather is really cool, right?" As she was chattering away at him, she was pulling a notebook, a textbook, and a pencil from her backpack and stacking them very precisely on her desk. "He also said you're a great cook, which I think is really interesting. Do you play sports or anything?" Somehow, in the course of gesturing while she talked, she managed to knock her stuff off her desk. "Oops!"

It was like Zack had been waiting for it. He caught everything as it fell and deposited it back on her desk. Averil watched this with fascination, because it looked almost choreographed.

"Thanks, Zack. Sorry, you should know this about me, Averil. I'm a huge klutz, and I mean  _huge_. I should go ahead and apologize about ten times right now, because I'll probably accidentally hurt you a lot. I do that to anyone I'm around."

Averil felt hope spring. "You think— you think we'll be around each other?" he asked with delight.

"Of course!" she said. She had the most  _adorable_  habit of tipping her head to the side when she smiled. "If you're a friend of Zack's, then you have to be cool!"

"Doesn't that mean you're cool?" Zack drawled.

She blushed and laughed. "I didn't mean me! I'm not that special, I'm really not," she said, her attention on Averil again. "I think Zack is only friends with me because I keep the other girls away from him!"

"Oh. Are you guys together?" Averil asked dully, feeling that hope plummet into the depths of the sea. If Sunny was Zack's girlfriend, then he had no chance. Zack hadn't mentioned a girlfriend before now, but that didn't mean he didn't have one, since he never talked about anything.

"Oh, no!" Sunny laughed again. "Not that I don't think he's great," she said affectionately, reaching up to pat Zack on the shoulder, as if to comfort him for his rotten luck in not dating her. At least that's how Averil interpreted it, since it was the entire male population's rotten luck for not dating her. "But, anyway, no. Besides, Zack doesn't  _date_."

"You don't?" Averil asked in surprise.

"He  _likes_  women," Sunny said, waving her hand expressively and nearly knocking her textbook off her desk again. "He just doesn't date them. It's really pitiful to watch them hang all over him."

"They don't interest me," Zack muttered.

"That's cold," Averil responded, and couldn't help another adoring look in Sunny's direction. "Don't listen to him, you're very interesting."

Sunny giggled, but the teacher had walked into the room, and it was time to start class. Averil hoped he had more classes with her today.

 

* * *

 

 

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about her!" Averil reprimanded Zack as they walked to their bus stop. "How could you fail to mention her?"

Zack kept his eyes on the road in search of an approaching bus. "I didn't mention any of my friends from school."

"B-b-but Sunny is gorgeous and friendly and delightful!" Averil rhapsodized. "Besides, apparently she went clothes shopping with you, so she's obviously a  _good_  friend." Then he scowled and tried to punch Zack, who blocked it lazily. "I can't believe you did that. I didn't want to tell anyone about me, and you went and explained the whole thing to the most beautiful girl in the school!"

"Is she?" Zack asked without interest. "Well, she's not the kind of person who would think your circumstances made a difference. So don't worry about it."

"Don't WORRY about it?" Averil fumed as they got onto the bus.

"You're just mad that she doesn't want a boyfriend until after she finishes high school."

Okay, yeah, he was more than a little disappointed by that. But that was hardly the point. "I'm a pathetic freaking charity case, and that's the last thing I want a girl like Sunny to know! And YOU just thought it would be okay to bring her IN ON IT—"

"You're not a charity case," Zack cut him off, frowning deeply. Whoa. It was the most dramatic facial expression yet. "I gave you that stuff because I wanted to."

"It certainly wasn't because I asked for it, so—"

Zack sighed, then stuck his fingers in his ears and looked out the window. Averil was stunned into silence for a moment, which caused him to notice that people were giving him curious looks. Well, screw them.

"Don't put your fingers in your ears! You can't ignore me when I'm trying to tell you what an idiot you are . . ."

The lecture went unheard by Zack, but that didn't stop Averil from giving it, until Zack finally unplugged his ears and Averil ceased to see if he had some kind of response.

"This is your stop."

"What?"

"You need to get off the bus here. It's your stop. You have to walk to the end of the block and turn right."

"I KNOW THAT! I'm not stupid. But where are you going? Aren't you getting off?"

"I'm going to archery practice."

"Oh," Averil said, feeling strangely disappointed. He assumed he felt disheartened by losing the opportunity to complete his diatribe. Zack really ought to know how pushy he was, just shoving clothes and friends and help at Averil all the time.

Then Averil remembered what he had tucked into the pocket of his bookbag that morning, and he said a hurried goodbye and hopped off the bus. Zack started glaring at him, for some reason. It was possible that Averil's abrupt change in attitude was suspicious, he supposed. But he waved a slightly sarcastic goodbye as the bus started moving again, and practically skipped down the street. He hoped he was on time.

He rounded the corner, onto his street, and sped up. He was on time! There she was!

"Hello, Karen!"

The little girl had been kicking her legs against the wall—snow-free this time, the stuff had disappointingly melted right away—but she stopped and waved at him cheerily. "Hi, Mr. Averil!"

He laughed. "You don't have to call me 'Mister,' you can just call me Averil."

She beamed at him like he'd told her she was some long-lost princess. "Okay!"

"I was hoping I would see you today. Guess what I have for you?"

"You have something for me?"

"Yeah!" he said, digging into his bag.

" _Of course you need to come shopping with me! If you're doing all the cooking around here, you ought to know better than me what we need from the store. But I can see your ribs are still hurting you pretty bad. Next time, then."_

" _O-okay. Sure."_

" _Get some flour," Zack spoke up. "I want those breadsticks again."_

" _You don't get to make demands!" Averil hollered at him._

_Harold just laughed. "Averil, can I get anything for you while I'm out?"_

_Averil shook his head, blushing._

" _Would it make you feel better if I said this is a thank you for all the cooking? If there's anything you want, let me know. It doesn't have to be groceries."_

_Averil looked up shyly. "Could I have some yarn? And a pair of knitting needles?" He winced. "Sorry if that's too much."_

_Harold's mouth twitched, like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to smile or not. Then he burst out laughing. "It's just perfect that you knit, boy," he chuckled._

_Averil glared at him_ _**.** _ _"My mother taught me how." That steered him dangerously close to blocked memories and pain, so he didn't try to think about it further._

" _Sure, I'll get some," Harold chuckled. "See you boys in a bit."_

_He returned with a gigantic bag from a local craft store, and a completely bewildered face. "I had to ask for help." The bag contained two sizes of knitting needles and enough yarn to keep Averil busy for a decade or so. "And I didn't know what colour you wanted, so . . ."_

" _So you got some of each?" Averil asked with awe._

_Zack had gone out to the car and retrieved some of the groceries. He set them down, pointed at a rather handsome dark green, and said, "That one's a good colour."_

" _Glad to have your OPINION," Averil called—maybe just a_ _touch_ _sarcastically—at his retreating figure as it went out for more groceries. Then he turned to the yarn with rapture in his eyes and started picking out the colours he liked best for his task. He looked up once, wide-eyed, at Harold. "This is too much, it's— I'm sorry, I should have been more specific about what I wanted, you shouldn't have—"_

" _Listen, Averil. I appreciate your concern, I do. But money is something we don't have to worry about in this house. All right?"_

_Averil's mouth opened and closed without sound._

" _I became a surgeon because it was the right career for me, and I enjoyed saving lives. But it came with a pretty good paycheck, and I've got a comfortable retirement ahead of me. Money is something to be shared, in my book. Doesn't do a person any good just sitting there. Besides," he finished with a chuckle, reaching out to mess up Averil's hair, "I think I like spending it on you. Zack's been my only grandkid long enough."_

Averil felt the warmth of that moment creep into him again as he retrieved the mittens he'd knitted from his bag. They were a jewel-bright aqua green, a colour he'd chosen thinking it would look nice with her hair, with a little stripe of cream at the knuckles and wrists.

"I was worried about you not having any gloves, so I made you these," he said shyly.

She gasped and reached out her hand, but didn't touch them. It was an almost reverent gesture. "Really? They're really for me?"

"Yeah, go on."

She took them, and tugged them on eagerly. "They're so pretty, Averil!"

"I wish they were pretty," he said grudgingly, despite the fact that he knew full well they were awesome. He'd torn his work out and started over about four times before he was satisfied. "Do you like the colour?"

"I really, really love it!" she said enthusiastically. "They're perfect!" She flexed her hands, and he was proud to see that they fit her. "Thank you!"

He gave her a fond little pat on the head, gratified by her enthusiasm, and she froze for a moment. So did he. Maybe he shouldn't touch her? He pulled his hand back.

But she grabbed his hand with both of hers and squeezed it. "You surprised me!" she said cheerfully, clinging to his hand. "But you're so nice, and I like you. Are you going to stay with me while I wait for my mother?"

"If you want me to," he said, still surprised. He sat down on the wall by her, and she never let go of his hand.

"Hello there!" came a cheerful voice behind him. "Remember me?"

Averil turned to see the very bright and pretty woman from last time, walking toward them from the school. Her hair was all wrapped up and tucked into a warm cap today. "Uh, yeah, Mrs. Um . . ."

"Just call me Dovie," she drawled. "Oh, my, Karen, what pretty mittens! I noticed you didn't have any before, your mother must have got some for you."

"Averil made them for me!" Karen said cheerfully, swinging their linked hands.

He immediately tried to avoid eye contact. He had absolutely no reason to be making gifts for little girls he didn't know, so he couldn't explain it. It was just that . . . she ought to have them. Loneliness radiated off her almost visibly, and somehow she reminded him of himself. Sitting there all alone, scared to talk to her mother and having no one else to help.

"Did he now?" Dovie said. "Well, you're very talented, Averil. That was sweet of you."

"I just didn't want her to be cold," he mumbled.

"Looks like you two are the best of friends already," she said with a smile.

That silver sedan came around the corner and pulled up to the curb. Karen's mother. Karen leaped to her feet, dropping Averil's hand immediately. The window rolled down.

"You again!" the severe-faced woman snapped at Averil. She saw Dovie standing behind the wall, and gave her a good glare. "I don't know what kind of school this is, if you're letting riff-raff around my child!"

Dovie glared right back. "He is not riff-raff, he is one of our neighbours, and he's also standing right there!"

As if reminded, Karen's mother turned her attention back to him. "Stay away from my daughter," she said. "She doesn't need creepy neighbours distracting her all the time. She has important things to focus on, and I don't want her spending her time with you."

"Important things?" Averil frowned, but he looked at Karen. She fidgeted and blushed.

"My child is a genuine prodigy on the piano, and she has to go home and practice. Get in the car," she snapped at Karen. Karen jumped to obey. "I don't want to see you near her again!" The window rolled up and the car sped away.

Averil turned to Dovie, and found her near tears.

"I hate that woman," she said, fuming. "She shouldn't treat her little girl like that. Nobody ought to treat a little girl like that."

"She doesn't even say her name," Averil said, bewildered.

Two of the other people who worked at the school came outside and walked up to them. They stood on either side of Dovie, and the woman put an arm around her waist while the man patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"We've got to do something about her, Sasha," Dovie said miserably.

The man opened his mouth, but jumped when Sasha reached around Dovie to pinch him.

"No, Oscar," she said.

"Fine," he sighed.

Averil decided they were very weird and he ought to change the subject. "Aren't there two other guys who work here?"

"Oh, no. That was my brother and my husband," Dovie said. "They were just visiting. Well, Alex worked here for a while, but he went back to school. He's studying to be a lawyer."

"Oh. Is your brother in school, too?"

Dovie shook her head, smiling. "Nope. He's a mystery, our Ian. He was going to  _Yale_ , and I do mean  _Yale_ , and he dropped out. Never told me why." She frowned, for a minute, and Sasha gave her a little squeeze. That made Dovie shake herself out of it, smile at Averil, and say "It's a little cold out here for just chatting. You're welcome to come in for a bit and meet the other kids, if you'd like to?"

Averil, surprisingly, wouldn't have minded that. Dovie was all smiles and generosity, and just being around her was like watching the sun come out. It wasn't that he was attracted to her or anything. She just seemed to carry around that warm feeling.

"Oh. No, thanks. I'd like to, but I have some things to do at—Um, at the house."

She wore that cheerful smile again, and she said, "I don't think they'd mind if you said 'at home,' you know. I think they'd like that."

Averil could feel himself blushing enormously, and he squeezed out a goodbye and ran for it. It wasn't because he was trying to escape or anything. He wasn't a coward! He just had things to do! He had all that yarn that needed to be knitted into things, so he was making a snug, dark blue scarf for Harold. And another pair of gloves. Probably for Zack. But only because that really nice dark green colour needed to be used for  _something_ , not because he wanted to give anything to Zack.

He started fantasizing about giving a matching set to Sunny, a hat and gloves and scarf all together. It ought to be a really pretty yellow, he should see if he had any of that . . .

"Welcome home, Averil."

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so intent on going inside that he hadn't noticed Harold and Yvonne leaning against the corner of the house and smoking.

"ARGH! Uh, I mean, hi. Hello. What are you guys doing out here?"

Harold waved his cigarette in a lazy illustration, then dropped it and ground it out beneath his foot. Yvonne more delicately tamped hers down on the wall and then flicked it away. God, she had awfully long fingers, didn't she? Harold's hands looked just like Zack's did, sort of square and strong— not that he really cared what the hell Zack's hands looked like. He just had to noticed these things if he was going to make a pair of gloves.

It struck him then what a very silly hobby he had. He shouldn't even be wasting his time doing it. He  _should_  be out there, looking for work. He couldn't just be a houseguest forever. If he wanted to stay with the Williams (and he had to admit to himself that he did) then he needed to start paying them rent. Knitting things for them didn't count.

"I need a job," he mumbled to himself.

"Oh? Time to start saving up money for college?" Harold asked jovially.

Averil flinched, not realizing they were close enough to hear him as they trailed him inside. "Yeah, something like that."

"Uh, Yvonne?" Harold asked quizzically.

Averil turned to see what was going on. Yvonne was staring at him with a very strange gleam in her eyes.

"Yvonne, I don't like that look. What are you planning?"

Like she was going to devour him.


	7. Chapter 7

_February 10_ _th_

Alex was out in the schoolyard, doing as his wife had requested and keeping an eye on her favourite student while Dee rounded up a couple of troublemakers (probably including her second favourite student, Thomas). Karen sat on the fence, which was normal for her, but she kept looking down the street with an eager face—in the wrong direction. Her mother always came in from the other side of the street.

Dovie was right, then. Karen had finally made a friend. Between her suspicions that Karen was neglected and the poor mite's health problems, Dee was constantly worried after the little girl. Yesterday, when the neighbour boy had given Karen a pair of gloves, Dee came home all but singing and dancing.

It was a good thing, Alex supposed. So long as the neighbour boy was only sitting there keeping her company and not doing anything creepy, anyway. Seemed to be helping Karen. She looked happier than she had when he'd first seen her a couple of weeks ago. That was the day Ian had showed up, he remembered now.

Alex had been planning to talk to Dovie about her brother in any case. Since she joined him outside just then, he decided to go for it.

"Dee?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Ian said anything to you yet about what the hell's going on with him?"

"Language, Alex," she said with an affectionate sort of exasperation. She was always getting on him to keep his mouth clean around the kids. "And no. But you noticed, huh?"

"Noticed that he's been sleeping in our living room and hasn't mentioned going home? Yeah, kind of hard to miss."

"You think he's running from something in particular, or just running from himself?"

"Hard to say. He always plays so close to the chest, you know how he is."

"Yeah," she sighed. She worried over Ian even more than she did over Karen, and he hated seeing such tension on her face when he was so used to seeing her happy. He ran his hand across her back in a soothing pattern. "When he had that falling out with Daddy and then came out here to help me find you . . . I asked him a few times what happened to him. Why he dropped out of school and everything. He wouldn't tell me. One of his friends told me there was some girl at some club that screwed him over, but when I brought that up he just laughed it off."

"Well, whatever happened, it seems like it's come back up. I get the sense he's hiding out at our place. Not that the sleeper sofa is a great place to hide, but . . ."

"Maybe we'd better ask him."

Alex didn't relish the idea of broaching such an unpleasant subject with his wife's brother. For one thing, he was a grumpy bastard. For another, Alex was all too aware that he'd been _allowed_  to marry Dee and he tried to stay on Ian's good side whenever possible—because if Ian had judged him good enough for Dee, then Alex ought to prove it.

"Let's give him one more week," he suggested. "If he hasn't left by then, we'll bring it up."

Dovie looked none too pleased by that, but she nodded her head. She was looking at Karen, and Alex turned to see what had caught her little girl had perked up and was waving enthusiastically down the street. There was that black-haired kid, who was waving back.

"What's that guy's name again?"

"Averil. Lives with the Williams . . . Hey," she said, sounding indignant. "How come I don't know why he lives there? I always know the good gossip and nobody told me when he moved in!"

"Maybe he don't like people to know," Alex drawled, with maybe just a hint of sarcasm. "Anyway, you sure he's all right, to be hanging around her?"

Dee looked at him like he was crazy. "Don't you see how happy she is?"

"Yeah. But Dee, you always just assume the best of people. How do you know this Averil guy isn't some creep?"

Oops. He'd gone and opened his mouth when he should have kept it shut, again. Dee was glaring at him like  _he_  was the creep.

"Because he's a sweet boy, that's why. I've talked to him a few times. He's just concerned about her, the way I am. He thought she seemed awful lonely, and he was worried about her asthma being aggravated by the weather, so he thought he should keep an eye on her. Now he says he wants to get her to open up to him and tell him whether or not her mother's hurting her."

But Averil wasn't crossing the street to join Karen, not today. He was hurrying toward the antique shop. Karen stopped waving.

"Sorry!" his hollering voice echoed across the street. "I'm running late today!"

He ducked inside, and Karen's shoulders slumped with disappointment.

Dee clucked her tongue. "That's too bad. I almost think he needs a friend just as badly as she does, you know. They just seem to get along like a house on fire, for some reason."

Alex just frowned. "I guess. Still, do me a favour and keep an eye on him, just to ease my mind."

"Don't worry," she laughed. "Oscar's got that covered."

 

* * *

 

 

Averil blinked several times and tried to look at the room he'd entered. The lighting was sort of dim in here, and he had to wait for his eyes to adjust. When they had, he almost wished they hadn't. This place was a mess.

Objects were piled haphazardly around the room, with no organization that he could make out, and it was all covered in a layer of dust thick enough to write in. Some things were stacked on top of each other so precariously that he'd be worried they'd fall—if their dust didn't make it clear they'd been that way for a while. Some items that looked dangerous were left out right in the open, while some completely mundane-looking items were locked into a glass-fronted cabinet. There was wooden desk with an old-fashioned cash register set up next to a swinging door, and crammed into the corner by them was a round table with a cloth over it and a tea service set up—although the dishes looked to be empty. He would consider it a display of the wares, except there didn't seem to be any other pretty dishes like that in the shop. He guessed it was just that she took her breaks right there in front of her customers.

All in all, the insanity of the place just  _screamed_  Yvonne.

Just then, the swinging door—well, swung—and out walked (or possibly bounced) a boy not much older than Averil. He had black hair, and his face was so round and cute that he seemed more like a girl.

"Hi!" he chirped. "I'm Mike!" His voice was perky and Averil found himself taking a step back. Something about this guy seemed really familiar, but that was stupid because he was sure they'd never met. Well, reasonably sure. As sure as Averil could be about these things. "Come on back, Averil, Aunt Yvonne's been expecting you, you are Averil, right? Well, I'm Mike, I guess I said that, and this is the shop, and through here is the kitchen which we use to make tea for customers, but I guess I should save that kind of thing for when Yvonne gives you the formal tour, huh?"

Could one be drowned in words? Because that's what it felt like. Averil was being drowned in words.

"He's here, Auntie!" Mike broke off his chattering to announce. There was a narrow passageway behind the swinging door that had some filing cabinets in it, and then through another doorway was a spacious and brightly lit kitchen. Yvonne herself was in the kitchen, standing in front of an open refrigerator with a frown on her face.

"Welcome, Mr. Reed," she said smoothly, straightening up from her perusal. God what was she  _wearing_ , when her shop was open and  _customers_  could come in? It was like she was offering her knockers on a tray. Averil dropped his eyes to the ground and tried not to have an asthma attack out of sheer embarrassment.

"You can call me Averil," he gasped out.

She shut the door of the fridge with a motion that could only be described as petulant. "I wanted to open a bottle of wine to celebrate, but we don't have any good snacks to go with it," she pouted dramatically.

"Who cares?" Mike said enthusiastically. "We don't need snacks. Wine, wine, wine," he chanted in a sing-song, bouncing over to a drawer and removing a corkscrew.

"I'm sixteen," Averil said.

"So?"

"So I can't drink."

Yvonne actually looked confused by that, for some reason. "Well, that's more for me and Mike, then," she said at last, smiling.

Ah-HAH! He'd finally figured it out, what her smile was. It was a genuine Chesire Cat grin. And he hated it already. Why had he agreed to do this?

 _Because you need the money, stupid_.

Oh. Right.

"Well, let's all adjourn to the other room, then, shall we? Snacks, by the way," she said as she somehow (he was beginning to suspect magic) worked her slinky legs into motion without flashing him, "are one of the things you are going to be remedying, Averil."

"I am? I thought I was going to work in the shop."

"You are going to work in the shop, among other things. I'm also hiring you to cook for me, you see. And really, anything else I want you to do. I might send you on errands for me. It would be highly useful to have an errand boy."

"I'm not an errand boy," he muttered. But why was he complaining? What had he really expected out of Yvonne as an employer, if not this capricious nonsense? "But if you want to hire me as your personal chef or something . . ."

"Yay!" Mike cheered, accepting a glass of wine from Yvonne. "Auntie told me all about your cooking," he said. "I can't wait."

"Do you live here?"

"Yep!"

"And don't you work for her . . .?" "Sort of," Mike grinned. "I mostly just keep an eye on the shop for her. But I don't want to do it in the evening anymore, so you'll do that. You only need to stay in the shop until six or seven, so then you'll come back here into the house and make dinner!"

"About that . . ." Averil stammered. "Isn't the shop open right now? Shouldn't we . . .?"

"There's a bell that chimes in the house when the door to the shop opens," Yvonne reassured him. "I don't usually lock up and set the alarms until I go to bed."

"So you don't have set business hours?"

"Not really. Many of my customers are by phone, in any case. But I feel that if someone finds their way into this neighbourhood and discovers my shop, then they were  _meant_  to be here."

"Meant to? Like fate or something?"

"Exactly like fate," she replied with an almost feral smile. "I'm glad you agree."

"I didn't say I agreed!" Averil snapped. "That's a crazy idea! It's not fate to go antique shopping!"

Yvonne just gave him her Chesire smile. "Wait till you look at some of the things I have. You might just come to believe that the pieces choose their owners."

Averil harrumphed at that. "Is part of my job going to be cleaning and organizing that stuff?" he asked hopefully. He didn't think he could stand working here if he had to just look at that mess and not do anything about it.

"There are several items that have to be maintained regularly, and you'll have to be taught how to handle them," Yvonne said thoughtfully. "But everything  _could_  use a good dusting, and maybe we ought to update our inventory." She beamed at Mike, who beamed back. "I told you he was going to be useful!" she said happily.

Averil rolled his eyes, and then had to repeat the performance as Mike poured a second glass of wine for himself and Yvonne.

"Okay, you ready to start?" Yvonne asked Averil as she sipped her wine.

Averil shrugged and nodded.

"Great! Make dinner!"

"Make . . . Now?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I'm famished." She even threw her arm over her forehead and struck a dramatic pose. Averil got up and went back to the kitchen muttering under his breath about crazed cougars with drunken fluffy-headed idiots for nephews. He flung open a cupboard and stopped cold. If it was possible to stare at something that wasn't there, he was doing that. Because she had basically nothing to cook with in here.

"What am I supposed to make?" he hollered. "How about a bowl of AIR sprinkled with salt and  _herbs de provence_? I was going to say salt and pepper, but I don't think you have any!"

"Oh, right," Yvonne called, getting up and following him into the kitchen. "Thank you for reminding me! Money for groceries . . ."

In the end, she sent Averil to pick up some Chinese takeout from her favourite place, which turned out to be an insanely long walk just for freaking Schezuan Chicken. Which Averil didn't actually like, so he excused himself and went home. He was just there to get the details of the job, anyway, and he didn't much want to stay and watch Mike and Yvonne work their way through  _another_  bottle of wine. It was kind of nice that going home took less than a minute, since he'd already been worn out from a long day at school before he'd had to deal with Yvonne.

He trudged into the bedroom, which had gotten pretty tight for space since they'd shoved a second bed in here. Zack was seated at the desk that was now crammed into the corner, apparently doing homework. He kept doing it as Averil came in.

"How was it?"

Averil threw himself onto his bed, closed his eyes, and groaned.

"Dramatic much?"

Averil cracked his eye open to glare at him. "She's going to kill me. She's a slave driver."

"She can't be that bad."

"She's  _almost_  as demanding as you."

Zack looked up from his homework long enough to nearly-smirk, then he went back to it.

"That's it?" Averil asked incredulously. "That's all you're going to ask me?"

"I figured you were going to tell me anyway."

Averil raised himself up on his hands so he could give Zack a good angry look. "Maybe you shouldn't go around ASSUMING things about other PEOPLE," he began hotly, but then he sighed and lay back down again. "Never mind, I'm too tired."

"She actually wore you out so much you can't yell at me? Amazing."

"HEY! I don't— I only yell at you because you're so infuriating, so it's your fault!"

"Guess you're not that tired," Zack sighed.

Averil rolled over and gazed blankly at the ceiling. He had homework, too. But doing it right now would require him to move, and that was too much effort to put into anything. Including eating, despite the fact that he was really hungry. "I didn't even get dinner," he moaned.

There was a rustling sound that he was too weary to turn his head to investigate, then something beaned him in the side of the head.

"HEY!" He sat up, fumbling to grab the offending object. "What are you doing throwing things at me?" He picked up a sandwich bag that had some cookies in it. "Are these the ones I made?"

"Yeah. If you're hungry . . ."

"You  _threw_  them at me, I don't want to eat them," he grumbled, despite the fact that he was taking one out and doing this grumbling through a mouthful of shortbread.

"Sorry." Zack was sitting up and actually looking sort of repentant. "I thought you knew I was. You really can't see anything out of that eye, can you?"

Averil's hand slid over the pale and sightless eye. He knew it was something he was used to—at least not a result of the car accident, if not strictly normal—but that was as far as he'd allowed it to go. "No, I can't," he said. He continued eating his cookie, feeling more subdued now.

"How did it happen?"

Just because he was amazed by Zack's curiosity, he tried to think about that. Tried to answer the question. Then Averil fell back on the bed, clutching his temples in shock. "No," he bit out. "It's blocked."

"Oh."

"I think he cried. But he always cries when I'm hurt . . . No! No, ugh . . ."

"Who does?"

"I don't know."

"Lee? You called me Lee the other day."

Averil hissed through his teeth and wondered if his whole face had exploded from the pressure and was spilling blood over his bed, because that's what it felt like. "Stop, stop, stop," he begged. "I can't." He curled his body up, resisting the painful intrusion, the flashing lights that warned him how bad this was. "No, stop. It hurts. It hurts."

"Okay, okay," Zack said in real alarm. "Just . . . Tell me something else. Did you see Karen today?"

"No," he groaned. "I waved at her, but I told Yvonne I'd come straight over after school, so I didn't want to be late."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah. She looked really disappointed, actually. How messed up is that?"

"Is what?" "That I'm the closest thing she's got to a friend, that's messed up. If she looks forward so much to seeing  _me_  . . ." Averil sighed. "You know, I have to do my homework now, I really do."

"Can you see straight?" "Yeah, it didn't last long this time."

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

 

"If she looks forward so much to seeing  _me_  . . ."

What was so strange about that?

"I have to do my homework now, I really do."

After that shock of pain, after making Zack worry that he'd have to get Grandfather, that something was really going wrong this time—he wanted to do homework?

"Can you see straight?"

"Yeah, it didn't last long this time."

Didn't last long, but it was clearly traumatic. Yet Averil was more concerned about his homework, and he knew it was because he was worried about being a burden on them. He wanted to repay them by succeeding as much as possible. And it seemed the only way Zack could help was to make a list of the topics he had to avoid bringing up so he didn't hurt him.

"Okay."

It wasn't really okay, but what else was there to say?

Averil snatched up his bookbag and pulled a few things out, and he began to hum as he worked out solutions to the math problems in his textbook. Like it didn't worry him that he was half-blind and thinking about it made him see stars? It did worry him, Zack knew it did. But he'd never let on. He didn't want to be a burden, not even an emotional burden.

Zack couldn't figure this guy out, despite the fact that they shared a bedroom, classroom, and everything else at this point. He'd never dreamed that people could be so complicated. He didn't think he himself was complicated at all, Averil's bitter rants about his inscrutability aside. But Averil, he was a mystery.

Karen looked forward to seeing someone who cared about her, who gave her a gift simply out of kindness. Averil questioned that, for some reason. Didn't he have any idea how strange it was for anyone to care about a lonely little girl? Averil himself felt alone like that, and he claimed that it was strange for Harold to take him in. So he ought to know how rare his kindness to Karen was.

Didn't he pay attention to the similarities? Apparently not. Nor did he seem to realize that it was doubly strange for him to look out for and try to heal the hurts of others, when he was going through so many things himself. This intense block he had on his past, the one that caused him such terrible pain . . . It worried Zack. But Averil was more concerned with Karen, and with procuring this job so he could reciprocate Grandfather's generosity. And still he turned around and claimed he was useless, that he was nothing.

Didn't he see himself at all?

 

* * *

 

 

_February 10_ _th_

Lee held Sara against him as they made their way back to the living room. He'd convinced Tom to go to school for a while and meet with a couple of his professors about make-up work and attendance to cover the amount of time that he would be missing while Sara continued to cycle in and out of her new treatment center. Since Tom and Yuri both needed to be at school and Sara needed someone with her, Lee had called out of work sick. It wasn't really lying. He was missing work for an illness, just not  _his_  illness.

He'd brought Sara over to his place, making her a bed on the sofa just like the one at her house. Sarah had insisted that if he was going to stay with her, they would come here so that he could comfortably and conveniently do his homework. He didn't want to do his homework. He wanted to watch over her and try to make her feel better.

Unfortunately, he was rapidly learning there was no such thing. No matter how he might hope to help, she would still be tired and she would still throw up. She kept telling him that having him there  _did_  make her feel better, but he didn't know how. He just knew that as long as she said it, he'd keep doing it.

"Thank you," she whispered as he guided her onto the sofa.

"No problem," he said as cheerfully as he could. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," she said immediately. "I'm fine."

She'd just been throwing up, and if nothing else she needed a glass of water. He turned to get it from the kitchen and found that Finn was there.

"I didn't even know you were home," he said in surprise.

"Mmm-hmm," was Finn's only answer. "Caleb's here, too."

"Oh, I didn't know he was back already. You guys are being really, um, quiet."

"We thought Sara might be embarrassed to have us around," Finn murmured, his eyes on the sick girl on the sofa. He held out a glass of cold water and a box of Saltines. "Here. If she's doing better later, I'll make dinner."

Sara lifted herself up as Lee took the glass and box from Finn. "Oh. Finn. Hello."

"Hi, Sara!" he said cheerfully.

She blushed at that, and hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry for intruding," she said from behind that frail barrier.

"You're always welcome here, princess," Finn said indulgently, leaning against the counter and smiling at her with confidence, showing he meant it.

"I'm not a princess right now," she muttered. "Princesses are supposed to be graceful and pretty, not puking in other people's bathrooms."

Finn crossed the distance between them with only a few strides of his long legs. He knelt down in front of her and bowed his head, taking the most dramatic path possible.

"Take the word of your loyal knight," he said solemnly, taking her hand and making her giggle even through her embarrassment. "Your grace and beauty are not dependent on your circumstances."

"Stop it, Finn," she giggled, trying to hide her face again.

"Yeah, Finn," Lee said lazily, finally setting the water down beside Sara. "That's my line, anyway."

Sara looked up with startlement, just in time to see Lee join Finn on one knee. "Your servant, my lady."

"You guys . . ." she said weakly.

"Are idiots," finished another voice, and all of them looked up to see Caleb leaning on the corner wall shared by the kitchen and hallway. He was smirking, though, like he was trying not to smile. "How's she going to believe you if you're acting like idiots?"

"Oh? You're not going to swear to be one of her knights?" Finn asked almost sweetly.

Caleb crossed his arms and looked deeply pensive at that. "I'm here, aren't I?" he said eventually. Finn got up after dropping a kiss onto Sara's hand, leaving her to Lee's care, and went over to stand by Caleb in the hallway and watch the two teenagers.

Lee was sitting beside her, turning on the t.v. and finding a show she liked, opening the crackers. He retrieved the book they were reading for English and started reading aloud to her.

"They are just so  _adorable_ ," Finn murmured.

Caleb grunted, which could have been complete agreement and could have meant he had indigestion. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes.

"You had a real problem with that knighthood thing, didn't you?"

"I've already made a vow like that," Caleb said after a moment. "Don't know if it would be right to make another one to someone else."

"Tanya?"

Caleb said nothing.

"Is that how it is for you, then? That's why you couldn't tell me if she was your friend , or your girlfriend, or what she was. Because calling someone your princess is something you didn't think anyone would understand. But I think it's sweet. Maybe every girl should have someone like you to protect them. Right?"

Caleb was still silent.

"I feel like I'm just talking to myself, sometimes," Finn laughed.

"Didn't you just do the same thing with her?"

"I was just joking around," Finn shrugged.

"No, you weren't. You want to be joking, because you don't want to get close to anyone, but you care about her. You care about both of them, and you want to help them. You can lie with that big fake smile of yours, but I'm not an idiot and I know better. So just stop."

The two kids had been sitting with their heads bent together, murmuring about their studies, but Lee sat upright suddenly.

"Hey! Sara's hungry! She wants dinner!"

"Lee . . ." Sara nearly whispered, embarrassed again.

But Finn was already flying into action, goaded on by the grin of joy on Lee's face. He couldn't avoid Caleb forever, of course. But he couldn't face what Caleb wanted of him, not right now. So he would play the role of Finn the Mommy and annoy Caleb into leaving him alone for a while.

"She thinks she could eat a sandwich!" Lee continued cheerfully.

"Okay!" Finn said, pulling out basically everything in the kitchen that could conceivably belong between two slices of bread, not to mention a few that didn't. Caleb's eyes were burning a hole into his back, but then he was right there alongside him, helping with food preparation. Finn's psychological problems could wait while they took care of their modern-day princess.

There ended up being an entire plate full of sandwiches (Lee and Caleb could both consume three in one go if they were particularly hungry) and a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet to remind Finn to get more bread from the grocery store. All three guys, without a word to one another, took a place on the living room floor near Sara so they could keep an eye on her and make sure she ate enough. Sara even slid down to the floor to sit with them, she and Lee side by side with their backs against the sofa.

They were able to remain upbeat for a while, ribbing one another and making Sara laugh, with Caleb growling out complaints about every single one of his teammates' performance during their practice and everyone teasing him about it. Then Finn threw a crust of bread at Lee, because he'd forgotten that he was on Lee's blind side. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and Lee turned to look at it with surprise. Finn opened his mouth to apologize, but Lee was grinning and throwing the crust hard right into Finn's face.

"Sor— Hey!" Finn batted it aside before it could hit him. "I was  _going_  to say I was sorry, but I don't think I am," he pouted.

"If you're sorry about throwing bread, then why are you throwing it?" Lee asked, sounding bewildered as he took a bite of his second sandwich.

"You're vaccumming this crap up, by the way," Caleb announced, giving Finn a glare. "I'm not doing it."

"I was trying to apologize because I forgot I was sitting on your bad side," Finn huffed. "But now I just want to throw stuff at Papa Bear," he added more casually, and lobbed the poor abused crust at the disgruntled Caleb.

"Don't CALL me that!" he snarled, knocking the bread out of the air. His eyes landed on a baseball that had somehow rolled itself under the armchair, and he snatched it up and threw it at Finn, clearly ready to escalate the war. Finn's hand flashed up and caught it without even really looking. Caleb blinked in surprise.

Finn was quietly setting the ball down and looking at Lee, whose face had lost some of its light the minute he'd mentioned the blind eye.

"Hey, Lee?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to you guys?"

"What?"

"You and Averil. You guys both have a bad eye, right? I mean, that's not usually a 'twin' sort of thing . . . unless you were born that way or something?"

Sara took Lee's hand when she saw that he was quietly considering his answer. She seemed to already know the explanation, and she was encouraging him whether he chose to share it with his roommates or not.

"It's . . . I feel bad telling you without asking Averil, but . . ."

"Then don't, if you don't want to," Caleb said plainly.

"No, it's okay, I guess. Um, it happened to me first. It was just an accident. I was climbing a tree, and I went too high. One of the branches wouldn't support my weight that high up, and it broke. I fell out of the tree. I was pretty scratched up, so they never could tell if my eye actually got hit with a branch or if I just hit my head too hard. But it was damage to the retinal nerve. I don't know all the medical explanation, because I was really young and I don't remember what they were saying to my parents. Anyway, the result is, I'm blind in my right eye."

"But Averil . . .?"

Lee looked down at his lap, the second sandwich completely forgotten. Sara squeezed his hand.

"Averil was really upset. He hated that I got hurt, and that he hadn't been there. And . . . Well . . . It wasn't just that I got hurt, this was at a time that his looks really bothered him. You guys might not know this—I thought he'd sort of gotten over it recently—but he used to really hate that he and I don't look alike. Because I look so much like Mom and Dad, and he doesn't. You know, he once accused Mom and Dad of lying about us being twins, asked if he was adopted. It was really upsetting to him that he didn't look like me—even though he  _does_ , if you go past our hair and eyes we do have some similar features—but anyway, the point is how upset he was. I had this injury that was going to make us look even  _less_  alike."

Finn had drawn his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, as if by curling himself up he could avoid hearing the rest of this painful explanation. His face was stricken. Caleb's face gave nothing away, but he was particularly grave. They could guess what came next.

"So he snuck outside, and he . . . He used a stick—it was one of the branches that broke off the tree when I fell, even— So he just  _stabbed_  himself. With a stick. In the eye." Lee had let go of Sara's hand so that he could clench his fists until his knuckles were white. Caleb's sharp eye caught a drop of blood oozing out under his fingers, from cutting his palm with his fingernails. "He— He just wanted— Mom and Dad made him go to therapy for a while, after that. I mean, no shit he needed therapy, right?" Lee let out a shaky little laugh. "After a few weeks of therapy, he said he regretted what he did, but I'm not sure he really did." He finally looked up at them with a sickly smile. "It sounds more like something  _I'd_  do for  _him_ , doesn't it?"

"Well, since that's probably the moment you started being so over-protective of him, it makes sense," Caleb said.

"I mean, I always— oh," Lee said in surprise, looking at Caleb with wide eyes. "Oh." He gaped into space for a moment. "You're right. I think. Yeah, you're right, that's exactly when I . . . Hey, how do you  _do_  that?"

Caleb just shrugged, and Finn leaned over to poke him teasingly in the ribs.

"Cal's just a big ball of fluff under all the muscle," he crooned. "You have to be in touch with your feminine side when you're raised by women, right?"

Caleb's first slammed down on the arm Finn was using to poke him. "If you ever met Amy or Susan you wouldn't think they were in touch with their feminine side," he growled. "The only side Susan's in touch with is her competitive side."

"Who's Susan?" Finn asked in surprise.

Caleb's face reddened. "Nobody."

"Really?" Finn drawled. "Susan Nobody. Is  _she_  your girlfriend then, since Tanya wasn't really?"

"NO!" Caleb cried. He was too horrified by that to maintain his silence on the subject. "No! Susan is  _Amy's_  girlfriend, not mine! Urgh!"

"Cal, you surprise me more every day," Finn said in delight. "I didn't know you were raised by a homosexual couple."

Caleb's face went even more red. "I was  _raised_  by my  _parents_ ," he said in a harsh voice. "Then I lived with Susan and Amy and Tanya and  _I_  looked after  _them_  as much as anything. And I don't know what's so surprising about Susan and Amy anyway. Who cares?"

"Just interesting that they were given custody of you, that's all," Finn shrugged. "I know it's difficult for single people to be approved guardians, must be a nightmare for a lesbian couple."

"I wouldn't know," Caleb shrugged. "Susan and Amy are both lawyers, they figured it out." He dismissed the whole thing with an irritated shrug of his shoulders. "Anyway, we were talking about Lee."

Lee put his hands up in a gesture of defense. "No, we can be done talking about me. I hate talking about that."

Sara's hand ran over his shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay, Lee. It was a long time ago, and it wasn't your fault."

Lee sighed gustily, then turned to Sara with a forced smile. "You're right. Thanks." His hand rose up and stroked through her hair for a moment. Then he froze, wide eyed, his hand still on the back of her head. His face paled, and so did Sara's. Lee sat there unmoving while Sara's eyes began to fill with tears.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"What?" Caleb asked, tensing up.

Finn let go of his legs and rose to a crouch. "What's wrong?"

Lee slowly drew his hand away from Sara's head, his fingers clawed with tension. Shining strands of something auburn-shaded clung to his hand in a small clump. Finn bit his lip and Caleb made a grunting noise like he'd been hit in the stomach. Sara took Lee by the wrist and brought his hand down so she could see it. Her lips trembled as she slowly, almost hypnotically, reached her own hand up and ran it through her hair. More delicate auburn threads came loose in her fingers.

"My hair is falling out," she said numbly.

Lee turned and put his arms around her immediately. "It's going to be okay, Sara," he said automatically.

"My hair," she whimpered. She put her face down on his shoulder and started crying. "I don't want this, Lee, I don't want to lose my hair."

His hands stroked over her thin shoulder blades while Finn and Caleb looked at one another uneasily and wondered if they should leave. "Shh. I know. I know you don't. I'm so sorry, Sara."

"I don't want to be bald," she wept. "I hate being sick."

"I know. But it's going to be all right. This is just for a little while. It's going to pass. In a few months, when you're well again, everything will get back to normal. Shh. It's going to be okay. Sara, you're still going to be beautiful. No matter what."

Lee kept that up for a few minutes while she sobbed out her bitterness over this new development in her illness. Finn and Caleb very quietly got up and cleared up the mess from their meal, the food that hadn't been eaten yet going directly into the garbage. It seemed wrong to leave, as if they didn't care, but it seemed wrong to sit there and watch Sara cry in Lee's arms, as well—so cleaning up was their compromise.

Finn tiptoed into the bathroom, leaving the last of the cleanup to Caleb. He returned after only a moment with an armload of things that he carried into the living room. Sara had stopped crying by now and was simply resting miserably in Lee's arms. Finn handed over the tissue so she could blow her nose, which she took silently, not looking at him.

When he handed over the damp washcloth for her face, she did look up. "Thank you," she whispered, and he tried not to wince at her reddened eyes. She simply laid the cloth over her face for a few moments, then patted her cheeks with it to remove the streaks of salt.

"Help her up for a minute, Lee," Finn said quietly.

Confused, the two teenagers stood up together, Lee supporting most of Sara's weight. Finn spread a spare bedsheet over the sofa and the floor immediately around it.

"Okay, Sara, have a seat," he said, still quiet. She did, and Finn sat down behind her. His last item was a hairbrush, which he began to use on her as gently as possible. She leaned forward, startled, and tried to protest.

"Finn, don't, you don't need to—"

"Hush, princess," he said softly, pulling her back toward him with a hand on her shoulder. "You expect Mommy to just watch you cry and do nothing to help?"

She acquiesced then, sitting still while Finn carefully brushed away all the hair that had come loose. Lee sat in the armchair with grim silence while Caleb tried to stay out of the way by working on a class assignment at their little dining table. It took a long time, because Finn was moving rhythmically and slowly to keep her calm as he worked. Little bits of hair came out with each stroke, and he would periodically pause to scrape a bit from the brush. The sheet became covered with beautiful shining strands that made Lee hunch over to hide the tears that he'd been holding back.

Strangely, the more upset Lee got, the better Sara seemed to be burying her own feelings. She started to chatter with Finn, even laugh. She was trying to show Lee that she was strong enough for this, that it wasn't killing her yet. That he didn't need to start crying yet.

"Hey, Sara," Finn said in a sudden way, like something had just occurred to him. "Do you want a popsicle? I have Otter Pops."

"You would," she laughed, but she looked eager. Lee jumped up and got one for her, and blinked at how rapidly she consumed it.

"Everything tastes funny lately, but that tasted perfect," she explained with a blush.

Lee got her another one. Then a third and fourth Otter Pop. They were all thrilled to find something Sara was so willing to consume, especially since it would help keep her hydrated as well. Even Caleb had to admit that Finn's bursts of randomness at the grocery store could be a good thing.

Finn was still working quietly on her hair when a knock came at the door. Lee jumped up to answer it while Sara went stiff as a board in front of Finn. The only person who would be knocking was Tom or Yuri, and while Sara would have gladly run like a rabbit to hide herself so her family couldn't see what was happening to her head, Finn was holding her in place with firm hands. Tom and Yuri didn't deserve to have Sara hide from them.

The two men entered, and paused in surprise at the sight of Finn and Sara on the sofa. Sara was flushed with shame, her head hanging and her eyes spilling over with tears again, while Finn was running his hands comfortingly over her arms, ready to grab her if she tried to run.

"Sara," Tom choked out, restrained by a simple, light touch from Yuri.

Her hair had come out in large chunks and left her partially bald, the white skin showing in glaringly obvious patches interspersed with what remained of her beautiful hair. A few locks were still clinging stubbornly, but they wouldn't last long.

"It's awful, isn't it?" Sara whispered. "I look awful."

Finn had to move back when Tom lunged across the room to pick his sister up and hold her close.

"It's okay, little monster," he muttered. "You're going to be okay."

"Don't call me that," she said automatically, but she was leaning into his embrace.

"What else would I call you?" Tom asked her, his voice full of affection that held back his grief. He very tentatively reached up his hand to touch a bare spot on her scalp. She stiffened, but didn't jump back. He continued to hold her and simply left his hand there, fingers tentatively feeling at the strange sensation of skin where something else ought to be.

"I'm sorry," Sara said.

"What? Why are you sorry?"

"I'm so much trouble to all of you right now," she said miserably, hiding her face in her brother's strong arms.

"You're my baby sister," Tom said in a teasing voice. "You're supposed to be trouble."

Sara's response was to start crying again. She was too depressed to respond to the teasing and too weak to do anything else. Yuri slipped up and put his arms around Sara, too, so that she was sandwiched between the two men. The intimacy of the gesture was abnormal for them and would never have occurred under other circumstances, but today it was right.

"It's not trouble to show your support to someone you love," Yuri said.

"Exactly," Tom added, grateful as always that Yuri was capable of articulating what he wasn't.

"Don't you know how far we'd go for you?" Lee said, and then cringed, embarrassed that he'd accidentally spoken out loud.

Sara pushed her way out of the embrace at that remark, causing Tom to give Lee a nearly terrifying glare. Sara put her hands on her hips, her tears incongruous against the stern look she was giving all of them.

"Don't any of you dare shave your heads," she said.

"Huh?" was Tom's response.

"One of the nurses told me that sometimes families cut off their hair to show their support to the sick person. I don't want you guys to do that."

"Okay . . ." Yuri said, sounding bewildered but agreeable.

It was Lee she was looking at in particular. "Lee?"

He was blushing. "I was still thinking about it . . ." he mumbled.

"Well, don't. I like all of you with your hair on. And I just know that if Lee does it, then Finn will think he has to do it, and I'm  _sure_  it's against the law to damage Finn's beautiful hair. And Tom, you would just look weird if you were bald. So all of you have to promise."

She fixed them each with a look until they gave their word, even Caleb having to grunt out his assent. With that, Sara seemed to reach the end of her strength. She still had her hands on her hips, but her gaze was fixed on nothing but empty air. She tried to turn around, but she was shuffling her feet.

"Tom?" she said, in the same tone she'd use to ask about something curious.

She started to fall, but Lee jumped forward and caught her. She looked exhausted, her cheeks stretched thin, and she let Lee pass her over to Tom without a word.

"I'll take you home, now," Tom said decisively.

"No, I have to help clean up," she said, taking a step toward the sheet covered in her hair.

"NO!" all five guys shouted at her.

Tom picked her up in his arms like a baby. "No way, monster. You're going home and going to sleep."

Totally embarrassed, she didn't protest, although her blush did return some colour to her pale face.

"Thanks," she said with a darting, shame-faced glance at Lee, Caleb, and Finn. "I'm sorry for all of this."

Finn made a noise of consternation. "Yuri, explain to her that thing about how she's not trouble again."

Lee fixed her with a brief, burning look and said nothing aloud. Sara almost smiled. Then she let Tom take her home, so she could rest. There was plenty more chemotherapy still to come, and this wouldn't be the last time she tried to apologize.

"Hey, Tom?" she asked after he had deposited her in bed. "Next time you go to the store, will you get popsicles?"

Which was when it was proven to her just how worried and desperate her brother was. He made Yuri go back out to get her some while he was fussing with her. She tried not to feel guilty and told herself she'd do him a million favours when she was well again. She couldn't wait to be well again.


	8. Chapter 8

_February 11_ _th_

If he had to pick one thing that he liked about his new life, above any other . . .

No, that was impossible.

There wasn't just one thing. It was everything, all of it together, that made his life as bearable as it was. He enjoyed his studies, of course, but he'd already been studying before. It was the apartment he lived in. It was the disorganization and the constant movement and craziness that made it feel so full of life. He loved that feeling. But it was mostly the occupants, he had to admit. He had so much fun with them, and he'd never expected to be able to do that.

And at that thought, he felt his mouth go dry and his heartbeat quicken.

He could lose what he had, so easily. All it would take would be one wrong word, and it would all be over. He knew it couldn't last forever, but he wasn't ready to lose it, yet.

Now there was someone who could ruin all that for him. So he was breaking the rules he'd lived by for eight years. He had to go talk to her, and make sure she understood. She had to suspect that he was the person mentioned in the essay, and one little slip of her tongue could bring the whole thing crashing down around him. He knew it would happen, one day.

But not yet. Just a little longer. Just another day, as he told himself every day.

He refused to allow his mind to picture the one person that he would miss most, the one it wanted to think of, and forced himself to picture the whole group. He allowed himself a moment to think about how bad it would hurt, when he lost them. Even the girl who worked in the office was part of the appeal. Molly was such a sweetheart, and anytime she saw him in passing she asked if he was happy. Not how he was doing. If he was happy. It seemed to be a fairly standard question from her, and he had to lie through his teeth most of the time, but he appreciated it all the same.

He had to be at work in only half an hour, and he would almost definitely be late, but this was important. They loved him at work, his job wouldn't be much at risk. He had to do this.

He had reached the point where nearly a whole day could go by without his being consciously afraid, and now it had been taken away from him. He had to get it back. He didn't know what he would do, though. Would he threaten? Plead? He wasn't sure, wouldn't be sure until he saw her and spoke to her. Good thing he was able to think on his feet.

He realized he'd reached the front doors, and looked up.

"Wow!" he exclaimed aloud. "Lee's so brave! I couldn't go in here every day."

He got a couple of curious looks from exiting students, but he hardly noticed, since he was tilting his head back as far as he could to see the towering edifice above him. The entrance into Abraham Lincoln High was far more imposing than a school had the right to be, with its sheer height and the imposing row of glass doors that were like an open maw ready to devour the hapless.

Of course, it could be that he just wasn't looking forward to the conversation he was here to have.

He walked inside and down the hall, trying to look like he owned the place. It seemed to work, since no one stopped him. A disconcerting number of teenage girls checked out his ass and did the flirty hair flip as he passed, though. He generally didn't think about himself in terms of his level of attractiveness, and he disliked their attention. It made him feel like a creep, because they were so very  _young_.

But he needed one of them. He gave it a real effort, sauntering forward with fluid hips. He raked his fingers through his always-messy hair as he approached the girl he'd singled out, and turned up the wattage on his "charming" smile.

"English classroom? The one the substitute is using?"

"That way," she said, exchanging overly-significant glances with her girlfriends and giggling for no reason at all. "You want me to show you the way?"

Ah, he'd been wondering where he'd find the line so he could avoid crossing it. "No, thanks," he said, still grinning like an idiot. "That way?" He pointed his finger lazily in the direction she'd indicated.

"Yeah." Her almond eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, and her fingers slid through her silky black hair, and he almost felt sorry for her, putting out all that effort for someone who'd never appreciate it.

"Thanks, sweetie."

There was a round of giggling as he walked away. They had that irritating but highly useful habit of believing that turning one's back meant one was out of earshot.

"God, he's gorgeous."

"Don't even think about it."

"Why not?"

"We've talked about this. He's too good to be true, and that means he's gay."

"It does not!"

"He called you sweetie."

He laughed aloud as he navigated his way to the classroom he was looking for. People had been speculating about him for years, and he enjoyed being a mystery too much to answer the question. He peeked in, and then immediately pulled back, feeling slightly sick. There she was. The person who could ruin things before he had the chance to ruin them himself. The bitch of it was, he didn't know her that well. He didn't know what would work.

He arranged himself so that he was leaning casually, almost seductively in the doorjamb, and waited until she flipped aside the paper she'd been grading and started reaching for the next one.

"Hello, Claire."

She looked up with a squeak of surprise. For a moment, she just stared at him, but then she smiled warmly. "I knew it had to be you."

"How?" he asked suspiciously. "I looked at the essay. I hadn't realized I'd changed so much since high school." A big, fat lie, of course. He'd changed on purpose. It was the first of many lies he planned to tell.

She shrugged as she stood up from the desk. "You always drank rum unless there was something better. And you went on that obsessive study binge about the Druids once, when you got tired of studying for the AP exam in chemistry."

"That's quite a memory," he laughed. Or more like weakly chuckled. God, she had a mind like a steel trap, didn't she?

"Besides, you're the only person I've ever met named Finn."

"Good point," he grinned, and very nearly sashayed into the room. "How have you been?"

"Very well!" she said enthusiastically. "I met a really great guy, we've been together for several years."

"So I heard," Finn smiled. "I heard he was helping us look for Averil, I was impressed that you found such a  _nice_  guy."

"He is nice," she agreed. "Lee told me, by the way, that you figured out where Averil is." She frowned in concern. "I know that it's really Lee and Averil's decision, but I sort of wish I could go over to the other school and find him and talk to him . . ." She gave him that sweet, almost childish smile she was capable of. "Fixing other people's problems. Matt's rubbing off on me, I guess."

"After we worried about him so much, I'd like to go over there and shake him to death," Finn shrugged. "But it's up to Lee. Thanks for being so nice to him. He raves about you." He shook his head at her playfully. "I never thought you'd become a teacher," he teased. "It absolutely doesn't suit you."

"I can tell you're joking, but I'm not becoming a teacher anyway. I'm actually studying to be a licensed therapist, I'm just teaching right now to save up some more tuition money."

"Therapist?" he queried.

"Sex counseling," she grinned.

He nearly choked, but he burst out laughing. "God, that's just like you. It's perfect."

"And  _what_ ," she said, teasing right back, "are  _you_  still doing in school, Mr. Fly-through-college-and-do-research-and-development-for-a-top-pharmaceutical-company? A history degree?"

And just like that, it stopped being an almost pleasant chat with an old friend. "There's a reason I'm here." It sounded awfully harsh after their friendly beginning, but he didn't let his inward wince show on his face.

"I thought there was. If you just wanted to catch up with me, you could get in touch with me through your roommmate. I met him, by the way. Not a really chatty guy, is he?"

Finn almost laughed at that. Almost. Now was not the time. "Claire. He's part of the reason I'm here."

"Oh?" "None of them know about me."

"Know what about you, Finn?"

"Anything," he replied. "As far as my roommates are concerned, I sprang up out of a hole in the ground last year. And I like it that way. Do you understand?"

"Not really."

"It's not that they don't know much about my past. It's that for all they know, I don't  _have_  a past. I was grown in a test tube. You're the only person who could mess that up. I don't want you mentioning me to Lee, okay? Or Caleb,  _especially_  not Caleb. Pretend you don't know me. Whatever you do, don't tell them what you know about me."

Claire was deeply confused, and obviously hurt. "Finn, what do I even know about you? You were a pretty serious guy who liked chemistry and was desperate to please his foster father. I mean, something  _must_  have happened. Two weeks before graduation, you show up at school looking bruised all to hell, and the next day you were  _gone_. You and your brother just disappeared."

He tried not to hear those two words—tried to hide how "your" and "brother," when said together, made him feel like he was getting stabbed to death.

"Lee didn't even  _mention_  him in that essay, so I've been worried—"

"They don't know about him," he rasped past a strange constriction in his throat. Not too good a job of hiding it, then. "Claire. They don't know anything. Even what you know is too much. I told you. Test tube. That means no family, no history, nothing."

"But  _why_ , Finn? No one knows where you are. He even called me—"

Finn hid his shudder of fear. So he'd gone looking for Finn, after all. "I'm not going to explain. Get used to that. Just . . . Don't say anything. I don't want to threaten you, Claire, but I will."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Good god, Finn. Okay. I won't say anything."

He gave her a doubtful look.

"I promise, if that makes you feel better."

Finn let out a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you." That constriction was back. Just one more day . . .

"Finn, can't you at least tell me why you don't want them to know?"

"They're good people," he said. "I'm not. If they knew that, I'd . . ."  _Lose them_. But he couldn't tell her that. He didn't want her to think he cared that much.

He started to run away.

"Finn."

He almost chose to pretend he didn't hear, but he looked back over his shoulder.

"You two were so kind to me when my sister died, the only ones who could understand what it was like for me. If something's happened to you and your brother, I want to be able to return the favour."

"You really are as nice as I remember!" he chirped at her, and ran for it.

And as he walked away, with yet another bridge burned behind himself, he wondered. Why did he care? Wasn't he the type of guy who was eager to die? Wasn't he the type of guy who'd laugh at the idea of parachute failure when skydiving or drowning on a rafting trip? Not that he ever did anything that fun. But he'd careened through these last few years as recklessly as possible, and that hadn't really changed. He drank too much and slept too little, and it was almost like he was hoping that would kill him somehow.

He hated being alive, but he had his reasons for being alive. An accident of some kind would solve everything, for him. End all this without increasing the burden of guilt **.** But—

What about now? Did he still think that?

Yes. Yes, he did. Death would be the easiest thing in the world. No more guilt, and no more fear. It would all be over. He had his reasons for being alive, but so long as he couldn't be blamed for his death . . .

He cared about them, but that didn't mean it changed anything.

What if, one day, it did? What if he cared so much it  _did_  change things?

"Not gonna happen," he mumbled as he pushed out of the imposing doors. "Can't."

 

* * *

 

 

_February 15_ _th_

Caleb noticed that Finn was quiet, the last day or two. Lee was, too, but Lee had the excuse of dealing with Sara's chemotherapy and fretting night and day about Averil. Finn had just suddenly started acting quiet when he thought no one was looking.

Of course, if he thought someone  _was_ —

"W-o-o-o, Big Daddy is so distracted today!" that voice crooned, and Caleb winced. He'd started hating that voice more and more lately. Because it was the fake one. He knew there was a real Finn, he'd even seen it once or twice. And so it grated on him worse each time he was subjected to the act.

"Are you okay, Caleb?" Molly asked him, quite clearly restraining herself from leaping over her desk to hug him. She was way too touchy-feely with her residents, although he was apparently the only one who didn't  _want_  Molly to hug him. She and Finn got along, great, of course, the idiot would just about let her crawl into his shirt to snuggle him.

"Fine," he grunted. "Can I sign it yet?"

"We were talking about whether or not to keep Ril on the lease," Finn said, giving him a sharp look of disappointment.

Caleb looked at the kid and found Lee giving him a brave smile, like he didn't care that Caleb had lost track of the conversation at such a painful moment.

"Of course he's still on the fucking lease," Caleb said, trying to keep it from sounding as much like an embarrassed growl as it was. "Why are we even talking about that?"

The kid usually kept his emotions pretty well under wraps unless they were about Sara, so he just nodded and turned back to Molly. Caleb couldn't help looking quickly at the dumbass, though. Finn had just lit up like a Christmas tree and appeared to think Caleb was his hero. He was an over-actor, but at least this seemed to be sincere.

"Okay!" Molly said in her always-perky voice. "Everybody just put your initials on each of these lines, and then sign the last page."

Caleb looked down the page with suspicion.

"It's the same thing as last year," Lee said.

Caleb scowled. "Does it come with a warning about useless roommates this time?"

Finn gave him a pouting look. "Don't be so mean to Lee."

"I meant you, dumbass!" Caleb snarled, taking a swing at him. Finn was swift to dodge and throw up an arm to block, convincing him more than ever that Finn had some kind of martial arts training. Not that he was going to ask. He wouldn't get a straight answer, for one thing, plus it would kind of undermine his constant assertions that the residents of his apartment could leave their past at the door.

"Don't be mean to Finn!" Molly said with a pout. "He made me cheesecake."

Caleb decided to go back to his usual repertoire of quiet glowering and unintelligible grunting. It generally worked out better for him to keep silent and let Finn and Molly chatter. It was just noise, mostly, although in Molly's case it was kind-hearted noise. He put his name on the indicated lines, and just like that, their home belonged to them for another six months. He'd decided six months made sense and forced the other two to agree with him on that point. It would last until summer, and if somebody decided to drop out of school and move to Peru or something, it could wait until the end of the semester.

Finn was the last one to sign, and Caleb saw the moment that he hesitated. He was holding his pen over the page to make it look like he was signing while Lee was talking to Molly. But he wasn't actually touching the page, and Caleb noticed. What was that dumbass doing? He couldn't possibly still be unsure, not when he was already here to sign.

But the weird quiet of the last couple days suddenly made sense.

He had been thinking about whether or not he was going to stay. Finn was always cagey, even at the best of times, but Caleb was still sort of surprised to realize that Finn must have been considering disappearing on them. Or maybe he'd lost his job and didn't want to tell them that he couldn't afford rent anymore or something. Hell, who knew? All Caleb cared about was what had already been said.

He leaned over and grabbed Finn's arm. "We already talked about this," he said in his most menacing voice. "Lee and Sara care about you too much." He made sure Finn's startled eyes were looking at him. "And you care about them."

Lee and Molly were now very curious, but Caleb ignored the odd looks and held Finn's arm in a vice grip until that pen touched paper and Finn's initials started to appear on the lease. He finally let go and Finn looked up from his scrawling to grin at Molly.

"Now you're stuck with us!"

"Yay, more cheesecake!" was Molly's answer.

 _I accidentally checked myself in to a nuthouse_ , Caleb thought.  _Meeting Yvonne should have been my first clue_.

Molly insisted on a round of hugs before she'd let them leave, congratulating them on staying. Caleb would have complained to the management, but that consisted entirely of Molly's aunt Yvonne and was thus useless. He'd complained once that Yvonne let her employees dye their hair weird colours—Molly's platinum-blonde was  _clearly_  a dye job—but Yvonne had just laughed at that.

Then, of course, there was Finn. When they exited the office, he put an arm around each of them and dragged them toward the main exit off the property instead of letting them go back home.

"We have to celebrate not killing one another yet!" he proclaimed, weaving like a drunk as Lee hunched in terror under one arm and Caleb tried to yank the other arm out of its socket to get away.

"Come on, at least quit dragging the kid around. His girlfriend is getting chemo again today."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Lee (predictably) squawked, while Finn replied,

"He needs to get his mind off things!"

"Don't be an ass, Finn—"

"No, it's okay," Lee said bravely, and Caleb's hopes of getting out of this died. "Finn's right, I could use the distraction."

"Huzzah!" Finn crowed, which was a weird word that Caleb suspected him of making up. "Let's go celebrate!"

He really did want to celebrate, obviously, he wasn't just being obnoxious for its own sake. Because he'd decided to stay?

"You remember I'm not old enough to drink, right?"

"Yes." Finn pouted. "It's so boring." Then he brightened up. "I know! Let's go bowling!"

"Bowling?" Lee asked in a weak voice.

Caleb stopped on the sidewalk and crossed his arms. "No. Hell no. Fucking hell no."

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb sighed with relief at being back in his own boots as they stepped out of the noisy, crowded, dimly lit building into the street. He hated those stupid bowling shoes so much. Like he hated Finn. So much. He honestly didn't know how he went from standing on the sidewalk swearing to tossing a ball at a pile of plastic pins, except that Finn was to blame for it.

They'd both downed a few beers, but Caleb had too much muscle mass for the alcohol to have any effect on him. Finn, being on the slim side, had gone giddy, and was currently skipping down the street making cat-like meowing noises. For whatever reason. Cheering for himself and his almost-perfect score? Caleb suspected he was far more drunk on his own good mood than on the weak-as-shit beer they'd been drinking. He wished he could drink something better, but beer wasn't exactly on the nutrition plan he normally adhered to.

He looked down at Lee, who was watching his feet as he walked and keeping quiet, although he did smile rather fondly as the retarded blond broke into song. Lee had a lot more patience than Caleb, clearly.

"Hey, kid. You doing okay?"

Lee looked up, not trying to put on his courageous face this time. He just looked tired. "Yeah. Little worn out is all."

"Worried about Sara?"

"Yeah. Her days off start tomorrow, though. I'll get to take care of her for a few days."

Like watching that poor kid puke was a privilege for him or something. Caleb wasn't sure what it was Lee found so intoxicating about the girl, but he was making it pretty clear he'd go to the ends of the earth for her.

Caleb took his hand out of his pocket long enough to ruffle Lee's hair. "Then you'd better make sure you get some sleep tonight."

Lee was always staying up late studying for school or researching some random fact about Sara's cancer. She was a pretty girl, Caleb figured, not that she did anything for him personally. A sweet kid, a hard worker when the occasion called for it, but nothing spectacular. Caleb had been wondering if there was something about her that he was missing, then Finn showed him that essay Lee wrote. All that stuff in it about Caleb was bullshit, obviously, but the part about Sara made sense. A kid whose life had been as crazy as Lee's, it made sense that he'd latch on to whatever made him feel at home. And Sara obviously made him feel that way. Caleb wasn't about to ask why, since it was none of his damn business and he didn't care.

She'd impressed him, the past couple of weeks. She'd taken the news about her cancer with a lot more stoicism than he'd expected out of a girl her age. And even though she was really weak right now, she seemed to be keeping her hopes up about getting better. She was stronger than he'd imagined. Remained to be seen just how strong, since it hadn't gotten bad yet.

"Hunh?" Caleb looked up, pulling his hands from his pockets when he heard Finn stop singing abruptly. He'd gotten pretty far ahead, and it looked like there was another person up there with him. There hadn't been anyone walking on the street, so this creep had to have jumped out of some alley. "Come on, kid."

He and Lee hurried to catch up. When they got close enough to see faces, Lee suddenly whispered, "Oh no," and dashed ahead. Caleb followed behind more cautiously. For some reason, he always had to be the smart one. "What are you doing here?" Lee shouted as he approached.

Average height, average build, average everything. Except his smile, which was so sinister that it looked stupid. Caleb immediately hated this guy, whoever he was.

"Taking advantage of this fortuitous meeting," the average person answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I need a favour, and you owe it to me."

"I don't owe you anything!" Lee said.

He didn't look like a dumb kid anymore, Caleb realized. He'd taken this strange posture with straight shoulders and he'd put on this very stern face. He looked like someone you should take seriously. It made Caleb fairly certain that Lee was afraid of this guy. He prepared for a fight. He'd let Lee have the first crack at Average Guy, sure, but if Lee couldn't handle the guy—Caleb looked at Finn, saw Finn looking back at him with a grim countenance, and knew that it would be three against one.

"After everything I did for you?" Average Guy simpered. "You assured me that you always paid your debts."

"I  _did_  pay you," Lee said. He held his fists loosely at his sides, ready for anything.

"With  _money_ ," Average Guy said dismissively. Then he suddenly smiled at Caleb, and it looked awful. That was not a face that was meant for smiling. "Who are your friends, Lee?"

"No one important," Lee responded.

Finn and Caleb looked at one another again. Yeah, this was bad, all right. Lee had no reason to lie unless he thought this guy could harm them.

"So who the hell are you?" Caleb said, breaking the short silence that had fallen.

"I'm Seth," Average Guy responded.

"Doesn't answer my question, asshole."

"Don't you know what a naughty child Lee is?" he asked with a chuckle that was worse than his smile. God, he must have picked up his attitude from watching cheesy villains in low-budget films. "Don't you know that he's a criminal?"

"Criminal my ass," Caleb responded.

"He's quite a thief."

" _Was_  a thief," Caleb corrected, when it seemed Lee had nothing to say. "And who fucking cares?"

"I taught him everything he knows," Seth said, his smile looking smoother and less retarded this time. Didn't make Caleb like him any better, obviously. "I helped him when he needed it. He owes me, big time."

"You taught me how to shoplift," Lee said, crossing his arms and wearing a very stubborn look. "And I paid you for it. I don't owe you shit."

"Lee, Lee, Lee," Seth laughed. "Don't you know, that kind of favour can't be repaid with money?"

"What is it you want?" Finn spoke up, startling them all after his long silence.

"I need somewhere to hide out for a couple of days, that's all," Seth said, sounding nonchalant. "I've given Lee at least that much, so now it's time he repays me for it. Whatever piece of shit building you're living in, Lee, I'm coming with you."

"That would be a bit of a problem," Finn said delicately. "Since Caleb is such a fine, upstanding citizen, after all."

Seth's eyes flickered over Caleb in derision. "So?"

"Well, since Lee lives with us," Finn gestured to Caleb and himself, "and since Caleb doesn't like criminals . . ."

"You live with these guys?" Seth said, his eyes glinting as he turned to Lee. "I thought you said they weren't important."

"They're my roommates," Lee said, and he seemed to grow suddenly taller. "And they're good people. Leave them alone, Seth. If you have a problem with me, then it stays with me."

Seth placed a dramatic hand over his heart. Caleb fought the urge to chop it off.

"You mean to say . . . All this time you've owed me, and you've actually been in a position to pay it back? You are not the person I thought you were, Lee."

"Fuck you," Lee responded, and sprang forward, presumably to beat on the guy until he shut up. Caleb fully supported the idea, and stood back, ready to jump in if necessary. But Lee pulled up short of Cheesy Movie Villain Seth, looking shocked. He scrambled backward, away from the rest of them.

Seth was holding a gun. "You'd better think twice about that, Lee, old son," he said in a flat voice. All that cheesiness was disappearing with the appearance of the weapon. "I don't really want to have to hurt you. I just want someplace to hide out."

"You're not getting it," Lee said, manfully not letting his voice shake despite how pale he'd become.

"Then I'll kill you."

"And how would that solve anything?" Finn broke in to ask.

Seth barely looked at Finn, his eyes trained where his gun was. Lee's chest. "It wouldn't. But I'd feel a lot better. Shooting people that defy me is good for my ego."

Finn was sidling closer, more fully into the range of Seth's vision. What did the dumbass think he was doing?

"Ah, but that's a problem," he said. "Because I like Lee, and I don't let people shoot the people I like."

Seth risked a look away from Lee to smirk at Finn. "What are you going to do about it? I've got the gun, dumbass."

Hey. That was  _Caleb's_  nickname for Finn. He couldn't use Caleb's nickname.

"I can see that," Finn responded. His voice was becoming more remote, his face more austere. He looked less like Finn, more like someone dangerous. He clearly had some kind of plan. "That doesn't mean I care about that."

"You'd be pretty stupid not to care about a gun."

"I have often been accused of stupidity," Finn said. "I don't care about the gun. I care about Lee. He's a brave and hard-working kid who's got a lot of life ahead of him, and he's got someone relying on him. He doesn't deserve to die. So I'm not going to let you kill him."

Seth's eyes were starting to dart nervously around to all three of the people ranged around him. He couldn't afford to take his focus off Lee, lest Lee dodge out of the gun's trajectory, but he couldn't completely ignore Finn or Caleb, either. Caleb wanted Finn to back up. Edgy gunmen were trigger-happy gunmen. He tried to meet Finn's eyes, warn him, but Finn wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Lee.

"Sara needs him," he said quietly. Caleb wasn't sure who he was talking to. "And he's such a good kid."

Seth's eyes flicked to Finn again, even more nervous. "What do you care? If I don't shoot him, I'm gonna shoot you, because you're an annoying bastard."

"Fine," Finn said nonchalantly.

Then Finn  _moved_.

Caleb was glad he didn't blink, he'd have missed it. Finn was fucking  _fast_. One second he was standing six or seven feet away, the next second he was low to the ground, sweeping his leg out in an arc that caught Seth's ankles and knocked him right on his ass. The only reason the guy didn't smack his head on the pavement was that he managed to get one hand behind him and break part of his fall. Probably sprained, if not broke, his wrist in the process. Caleb was just sorry it wasn't his skull. He couldn't help smirking with satisfaction when Seth screeched in pain.

Finn was already back on his feet, one foot flashing out to kick the gun out of Seth's hand. But Seth was no slouch, apparently. He threw himself flat on his back, Finn's foot whistling over him, and lifted the gun with his uninjured hand, wildly firing off a few shots.

Finn pivoted away, dashed back a few paces, while Lee and Caleb ducked. Seth jumped to his feet, waving the gun back and forth in front of him.

"I'll shoot you all, I will kill you all," he snarled.

"Someone's already called the police for those gunshots," Caleb said warningly. Well, probably not, but on the slight possibility . . .

"Dammit," Seth snarled, and was idiot enough to turn around, as if he'd see the cops coming right then or something. Caleb took immediate advantage of it. He jumped to his feet, feeling an inexplicable rage crawling into his throat—one he thought he'd forgotten he was capable of feeling with how easy-going his life had been, lately. This jackass had pointed a gun at his friends, had tried to shoot them. Caleb didn't even think. He just grabbed hold of the gun with one hand and the guy's arm with the other. He flung him halfway down the street with a roar of pure rage. Man, it felt  _good_.

Seth tumbled to a stop, looked at his empty hand, saw the gun in Caleb's hand, and broke into a run. He was smart. He knew to weave back and forth. But Caleb wasn't going to shoot him, anyway. He wasn't the one trying to murder people around here.

For a moment, they all just stood there, watching the fleeing figure in stunned silence. Then Caleb slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants, so he could give it to the cops.

"That," he pronounced, "was fucking insane."

Lee looked at the ground. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Caleb just shrugged. "Not really your fault."

"Caleb's right, Lee," Finn said, when Lee opened his mouth to protest. "It isn't your fault. That guy is crazy, you couldn't have done anything about it."

Lee nodded miserably, but Caleb felt a jolt of sudden fear. Finn sounded weird. Breathless. And what did he mean, Lee couldn't have done anything about  _what_?

Finn abruptly turned away from them, and stumbled into the alley that Seth had jumped out from. Stumbled. Finn didn't stumble. Caleb leaped after him.

"Finn?"

Finn was leaning against the wall, both hands clutched into his stomach. His face was white and covered in sweat. The blue of his eyes looked particularly intense because there was a sheen of tears in them.

"Finn? Oh shit, shit, shit."

"What is it?" Lee asked from behind his shoulder, trying to peer around him.

"Seth fucking shot him."

Caleb was dumbfounded. Finn had just jumped away, had kept standing there, hadn't even let on. But his hands were clutched into his gut, and they were gleaming with a shiny substance that was almost black in the twilight. Shot. Finn had been shot. He was bleeding.

"Oh, no, Finn!" Lee squawked, trying to shove his way past Caleb, but Caleb held him back.

"Don't. Just stay back for a minute."

Lee did as he was told. Maybe the sight of Finn's blood was as shocking to him as it was to Caleb. Caleb approached Finn cautiously, since pain did funny things to people and he'd just seen a piece of what Finn was capable of doing. He didn't want a solid kick to the face just because Finn was feeling panicky.

"How bad is it?"

Finn drew his hands back for a moment, and they were coated in that deep red sheen. More blood was staining his shirt, oozing down to stain his pants. "Pretty bad," he said quietly, and placed his hands over the wound again.

For a minute, all Caleb could do was stand there and stare. He was being so calm about it, just leaning against the wall. His words and the amount of blood said it was bad, but he was just standing there and it had Caleb frozen.

Then Finn crumpled forward, and just like that, the hold on Caleb broke. He jumped toward him, caught him, lowered him onto his back on the ground. He batted Finn's hands away so he could take a better look at the gunshot wound, and he realized it was pretty far off to one side, not right into the stomach like he'd feared. But the amount of blood pumping out was goddamn serious. He shoved his own hands over the wound, suddenly very glad they were, as Tanya had jokingly told him, practically the size of dinner plates. He could keep pressure on the wound.

"Lee. Call an ambulance."

"O-o-okay," Lee stammered.

"No," Finn said. He sounded very tired, but very calm.

They both stared at him.

"No?" Lee said, frozen with his hand in his pocket to retrieve his phone.

"Don't call," Finn said.

"What? Why not?" Caleb snarled. "You were just shot."

"I know."

"Finn— You're going to die. You're going to fucking die if you don't get to the hospital."

"Exactly," Finn sighed. He wasn't looking at Caleb, he was looking past him, up into the sky. "So much easier . . ."

"Easier?" Caleb shouted. He wanted to get right in the bastard's face and scream at him, but he was too busy bunching up Finn's shirt and shoving it into the bloody hole in his side, pressing his hands over the whole mess. Was his heart beating really fast, or was he imagining that? "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't really like being alive," Finn whispered, his eyes starting to glaze over. The blood loss, the pain, it was all starting to get to him. "It's so complicated, with all the guilt and being afraid of you guys finding out, and caring too much. And the police will come, and things . . . I want to be dead when you find out about everything. Just easier. I don't mind it. I've been waiting for something like this."

"You can't die," Caleb said, unable to form a coherent argument. "You just signed a lease."

"Sorry about that," he said with a little smile forming. "I'm sure Yvonne will be lenient in this case. You can get another roommate."

He didn't want another roommate.

Wait. What?

He didn't. Want. Another roommate. He . . . wanted Finn to stay. Why else would he get so mad when he thought Finn had considered leaving? There were the kids, of course. They'd be upset. Lee was in tears, right now. Caleb knew Finn had started getting closer to Sara lately. She didn't need to mourn a dead friend when she could barely keep food down right now.

But. There was Caleb's own feelings.

Feelings? Really?

Yes. Feelings. He didn't want Finn to die. He'd lived with him for over a year, and as much as they fought and as annoying at the dumbass got . . . It was sort of nice to have. Caleb didn't get close to people. There was just Tanya. But now there was Finn. The second person he'd ever allowed so close to him. The guy shared his  _room_. He never believed a word the liar said, but he trusted him enough to sleep in the same room. That was . . . not something to be let go of, not lightly. Who would fill in that void? There wouldn't be anyone. Finn was too weird for there to be anyone to replace him.

"Lee! Call the fucking ambulance!" Caleb shouted.

Finn frowned at him, looking puzzled. "But I want to die . . ."

"Too bad," Caleb said, his voice barely above a whisper at the sheer rage that went through him when Finn said that. They were on the ground next to a dumpster, it smelled like shit and here was Finn talking about dying and it all just  _pissed him off_. He slammed his fist into the dumpster without thinking, and the pain that shot up his arm was godawful and strangely fulfilling. He withdrew his hand to reveal a fist-sized dent in the metal, and that was satisfying, too.

"That's a lot of blood," Finn said, his eyes fixed on Caleb's hand.

Briefly, he raised his hands so they could both see them. Covered in blood. Slick with it.

"Oh, god," Finn suddenly moaned, and closed his eyes. "That's a lot of blood."

"Having second thoughts about dying?" Caleb said, going back to keeping pressure on the wound.

"No."

"Like I said. Too bad. You're not dying until I  _say_  you can, you hear me?"

Finn's eyes remained closed. He was totally limp, now. Had he lost consciousness? He must have. His head lolled when Caleb shook him. Caleb took stock of what he felt underneath him. Finn had stopped breathing. Shit. Oh shit. He'd stopped breathing.

"I  _said_  you're not dying!" he hollered, and began CPR.

He didn't know how long he kept it up. He just knew he'd never been more glad he took that stupid class. It was one of the many things he'd done when he'd thought he would be staying in his hometown, just a beat cop looking out for Tanya. He hadn't expected to end up here, like this. Not playing baseball and not living in those crazy apartments and he certainly hadn't expected to be kneeling in an alley next to a dumpster feeling terrified that he might lose . . . his best friend?

"I'm not going to let you die," he said, swiping a hand into Finn's mouth to be sure his airway was clear and grimacing in disgust. He put his hands on Finn's chest and shoved downward, rhythmically. "One, two, three," he counted, wincing as Finn's ribs were creaking under his hands. "Not, going, to, let, you, die," he chanted, and felt it when Finn's ribs broke. He grimaced again but kept up his rhythm.

Then the dumbass took a breath, and Caleb jerked in shock. He found one of his hands going to Finn's face, accidentally smearing blood around his mouth, just sort of holding his cheek.

"Keep breathing."

Someone grabbed his arms, tried to pull him away. Caleb shrugged the hands off, but they were insistent. He turned around with a roar of fury and started punching, but Lee caught his hand and was nearly flung into the wall by it. Caleb blinked and realised he'd been about to put the lights out on an EMT.

"Caleb, stop, it's the ambulance, they're here," Lee was shouting

They were putting an oxygen mask over Finn's face, and there was blood everywhere and emergency lights flashing and making everything look gruesome, and someone was saying in a grim voice that he might not make it.

"The police, they're here," Lee was saying, while Caleb's eyes were fixated on the dying blond man they were trying to put on a stretcher.

Caleb turned to the cop, and felt pity for the way he was about to make this guy's life difficult. Still, he'd become a cop on purpose, one presumed. He knew what he was getting himself into. Another cop was right behind him. Caleb decided that between two of them, it wasn't that big a deal, and stopped feeling sorry for them.

"I took the gun away from the guy who shot him," he said, pointing at Finn. "It's in the waistband of my pants. I'm going to take it out and give it to you. I'll put it on the ground and step back from it. Okay?"

They both looked very stern and the younger one put a hand on his own gun, but the older one watched Caleb lower the weapon with his fingers as far from the trigger as possible, and he picked it up carefully while his eyes watched Caleb standing back up.

"You've handled weapons before," he said observantly.

"My dad was a cop. He used to take me shooting sometimes."

"Let's talk about the shooting that occurred tonight."

Caleb's eyes were still on Finn as they strapped him down. "Guy jumped at us out of this alley. He wanted us to give him a place to hide out for a couple of days, but we weren't about to take him home with us. He started waving that gun around saying he would kill the kid, here, for not agreeing to it. Finn tried to disarm him, but he got shot. Then the guy was distracted, so I disarmed him. He ran for it once I had his gun."

"How do you know this person?"

They were putting him in the ambulance. He looked really bad. Was he even going to live long enough to get to the hospital, without Caleb standing over him yelling at him for not breathing?

"I don't know him. But I know he's about six foot, about one-seventy, dark hair, and I think he might be ambidextrous. I know his eyes are two different colours, but it was too dark to tell what colours. His clothes were dark, too. And I know he fucking shot my friend. Goodnight."

Caleb climbed into the ambulance just before they slammed the doors shut, and no one was brave enough to drag him back out. So Lee was left to explain Seth to the police, while his roommates sped away from a scene that was washed in red.


	9. Chapter 9

"He's here."

Hands slid over clothing and through hair, checking to be sure it was all where it should be. He already made them look bad, but it was worse if they weren't perfect to start with.

"The usual balcony is free."

"Yeah, I would hope so."

Everyone looked at him when he walked into the place. He expected it. It was his due.

They called him the Prince, of this place and any other club he graced with his presence. It didn't matter what kind of mood he was in and what he was wearing, they'd still worship him—because he always looked perfect, even when he didn't. He was always the Prince, even when he was abusing his subjects.

Today, he looked like pure art. His hair was sort of spiky, making him look rakish and dangerous. His dark eyes, framed by thick, black lashes, were looking particularly stormy. His clothes were simple and casual, but they clung in just the right places to show everyone the corded muscles in his arm, and teased with a brief flash of the taut and tanned skin at his waist when he lifted his hand to greet someone. You could cut diamonds on his cheekbones, and there was just a hint of a shadow at his jawline, like he hadn't  _quite_  found the time to shave before coming tonight.

He was just over average height, just shy of being wide-shouldered and just shy of being too good-looking to be human. But it was his intensity that drew people to him like flies to honey. It was the way he moved. He sliced through a crowd like he was parting the Red Sea. He spoke like he expected the entire place to stop and listen. When he sat, the chair became a throne. When he left, the party was over.

His family was made of money, too. That definitely helped.

He hadn't spent a lot of time in this particular club yet. He'd gotten the invite, because everyone who was anyone in the night life knew that where the Prince went, the money followed. He'd spent two weeks making up his mind, leaving everyone wondering if The Factory was worth it. But he'd decided. This was his third visit, and he was well on his way to making it "his" club. He was surrounded by a flock of beautiful people for whom The Factory was their new favourite place. People with money and success and people whose fathers were paying for their college extravagances, just like his daddy was. He could afford to push away beautiful and intelligent women, because he could do better, and they spent their money drowning their woes at the bar.

He was projecting his plan for the night pretty clearly, stopping to greet people and accept drinks from them, but obviously heading for one of the VIP areas. He was here to get so drunk he couldn't find his own ass, then he'd grab whatever girl was nearby to find it for him. He was discontented, lately, and everyone knew it. He'd stopped attending half his classes, these days, although his father was still shelling out money to Yale every semester.

When he was on the dance floor, it was pure sex, but he clearly wasn't in the mood. He went straight to the balcony area that overlooked the dance floor. His entourage trailed behind him, some of them more beautiful and more rich, but none of them with his power and vibrancy. He took a seat, and waited to be worshiped. There were beautiful people all around him, and he watched them indolently as they engaged in things that were illegal to do in public, and sometimes just plain illegal. Two gorgeous blond girls were doing lines of coke off each other's bared thighs. On a balcony just a bit lower and across the dance floor, he could see three people having sex on a black leather thing that resembled furniture. In another balcony area, a group of people had become so drunk they just watched as two of their friends tried their best to kill one another with whatever they could get their hands on. A bouncer—huge but sleek, definitely very professional—arrived just in time to take away a broken bottle from the smaller fighter. They were both escorted away, but not to leave. There was a room in the basement where they could beat one another to a pulp and probably be given discreet first aid.

The Factory paid  _somebody_  a lot of money to maintain its existence. Half of the things that went on within its walls disgusted the Prince, but the prestige of being important there could not be ignored.

Then something changed. It was sudden and subtle. He tilted his head to toss back the end of his drink so he could start on a new one. But he held that position just a little too long, and when he picked up the drink that waited for him, his eyes had changed. They were interested in something. They flicked constantly to a metal catwalk above his balcony, and everyone sitting near him relaxed a bit. He'd just found the girl he was going home with. With that problem solved, they could kick back.

Sure enough, he stood up before he'd half-finished the drink, and eventually decided to take it with him. He sauntered up the stairs, waiting for people to see him and get out of his way, as they were wont to do. Even girls who'd like to be chosen for the night had learned to let him come to them, or they risked public humiliation. He had a cruel tongue.

He approached her. She was perfect, in the same way he was. If someone went searching for imperfections, they'd get distracted and never find one. She wore an outfit that was not clothes so much as a visible signal that she was confident and aware and indescribably desirable. She was a brunette, surprisingly. He usually went for something a little less traditional. But she had a lethal combination in her smooth, muscled legs and the graceful way she moved them—a rich girl like her, she had probably danced because it made Daddy happy.

She spoke the way he spoke, like she expected to be listened to. She perfectly balanced flirting with him and making him flirt with her. It was a mating ritual between the two most beautiful specimens of the species, and everyone else had to stop to watch. They saw when things changed. When a small, dark-haired man in a truly impressive suit approached them, displaying an entirely different type of confidence. This wasn't the walk of a man who was gorgeous and knew it. This was the walk of a man who had bodyguards at his disposal, and knew it.

Friends of the Prince, not wanting to get involved with this dangerous character but still wanting to show support to him, started up the stairs but stopped halfway and waited. He came storming down a few moments later, and the buzz starting running through the club **.**  He went back to his throne, burning with so much rage that his friends gave him a wide berth, but he looked strangely diminished. He'd been denied something for the first time.

The club owner's daughter, the word came down, reaching all the way to the main dance floor. She, too, went to Yale. The club owner had all the right connections to be a truly frightening person. Maybe even the kind that could make a guy disappear forever. He said the Prince couldn't have his daughter, and his word made it so.

It wasn't sitting well with the thwarted prince. There were others more than willing to be a consolation prize, male and female and even one that no one was too sure about. They all wanted him. But he didn't want them. He'd just been told he couldn't have what he wanted, yet nothing else would do.

He drank some more, then he abruptly stood up, and all eyes turned to him.

"I get what I want," he growled, and he started climbing the stairs to look for the girl. There was a stunned pause. "Anyone coming with me?" he snarled, and a few of his more loyal friends jumped to their feet to follow him. He nearly made it to the catwalk again before something else caught his eyes and he stopped in his tracks. "Now that is just sick."

Everyone was very interested in what would spark such a comment from the guy who didn't blink at the club's other "eccentric" habits. But there was more than one murmur of agreement. A slender and distinguished-looking man with a brush of silver hair at his temples was mounting the stairs, heading for a VIP balcony area, and trailing behind him was another man on a leash. No. Not a man. A kid. A teenager, who wore fitted pants and a piece of black mesh that evoked the idea of a shirt, with the leash attached to a spiked collar around his thin neck. The man looked alert, the teen was heavy-eyed and silent.

He went to the Prince's nearly vacated section and started greeting the people who were still there. He snapped his fingers and the boy crouched on the floor while he exchanged his pleasantries.

"No," the Prince declared. "I'm not gonna have it here. This is my place—" finally his claim had been staked "—and I don't let that kind of shit happen in my club."

"Wait a minute," one of his friends said. "You can't just demand anything, not after the owner—"

"He'll thank me for taking out the trash."

They came back down just in time to see that small and impeccably-suited man greet the new arrival and personally direct him to sit down. His eyes flicked over the collared boy, but all he did was shake his head at the man with a sort of amused exasperation, like he couldn't break his old friend of an incorrigible but harmless habit. There were a few words exchanged, and the owner left.

One of the friends who was close enough to speak directly to the Prince said, "Well, I guess that—"

But he was already gone, already re-entering the area he'd just left, and walking up to the silver-haired guy who was holding the leash loosely while he chatted with one of the Prince's friends. One of the coke-head blondes in fact, and they appeared to be chatting about her dealer.

"Hi," he said as he strode in, eyes boring directly into the newcomer. "Sorry, but my friends are I are using this area right now. We just left to say hello to Angelica."

"Angelica? Al Bolton's daughter?"

"Yeah. She's a friend. Anyway, sorry for the confusion."

Anyone else would have been out of the chair and gone by this point. Not this man.

"But my pet and I have just got settled in. Perhaps we could share the space for a while? Mr. Bolton assured me that I would enjoy his club best from  _this_  spot."

He was smoldering now. "Listen—"

"Why don't we introduce ourselves?"

Jaws dropped. Nobody had dared to interrupt him in such a long time, they'd all forgotten that it could happen. This guy would shortly be finding out that no one ever did it twice.

"My name is Castle, Lars Castle." He held out his hand. It was ignored.

"I'm Ian, and I am  _not_  sharing this space with  _you_."

"My, this must be your regular space for you to be so attached to it, no?" The boy at his feet was beginning to show signs of interest in his surroundings, and had started to watch Ian. Castle put his hand on the boy's head and briefly smoothed his hair. The boy took the hint and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Well trained, isn't he?" Castle said slyly when he saw everyone staring at the kid.

"Look, I think you're sick, and I think you should take your  _pet_  and get the fuck out."

Castle smiled. "You think? But you don't  _know_ , do you?" Ian opened his mouth to roar, and people started ducking for cover. But Castle merely stood up to put his face level with that of the Prince.

"Don't judge what you don't understand. You have no idea of where my pet might have come from, how well I might treat him, and—"

"He's on a  _leash_ , creep."

"Maybe he likes that."

Ian flicked his eyes down to the boy, who was still crouched down and waiting for an order. "Well? Do you?"

The boy didn't even look up.

"You don't speak to him, you speak to me."

Ian just stared for a moment, then spun around with a look of rage such as they'd never seen on him before. "Fucking sick," he snarled. He looked at his friends, trying to make a decision. This was probably the moment that it occurred to him that making trouble with Lars Castle would destroy his chances with Angelica Bolton forever. None of them ever knew exactly what passed through his mind at that moment, but it froze him in his tracks.

He spun back around, and he smiled, and it was the sort of smooth and diplomatic smile that he usually employed to get back into a professor's good graces after skipping out on an assignment. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I just need to learn what it's like. We don't have to do this the hard way."

Castle was clearly taken aback, but he only smiled and sank smoothly into his seat again. "I thought you looked like a reasonable man."

"I'm willing to be convinced," Ian said, sitting down and looking amiable. "So let me borrow him."

Castle's smile froze in place. "Excuse me?"

"Not for whatever you use him for," Ian assured him, picking up an abandoned drink and taking a casual swallow of it, clearly not caring whose or what it was. "But it looks sort of . . . Cozy, I guess. Just having him there, just knowing you're his master. I want to see what it's like."

Castle had ceased to smile. "So get one of your own."

"Not ready for the commitment, am I? Just let me borrow him for an hour. Just while we're sitting here, getting to know each other. I'll give him back safe and sound. He won't even be out of your sight."

"Well. That sounds reasonable after all. I knew I was right about you," the older man said. Castle snapped his fingers, and the boy stood up. He tossed the end of the leash to Ian, who took it, frowned at it, then dropped it to the floor.

"He won't go anywhere without permission, will he?"

"Of course not," Castle said stiffly.

Ian unhooked the leash from the collar, then tousled the boy's rather limp blond hair. "There you go, kid, relax a minute."

The boy planted his elbows on his knees to make his crouch more comfortable. Apparently that was relaxing. From that position, it was hard  _not_  to notice the track marks on the boy's arms, although some of the entourage made an effort at it. Ian scowled at the marks, visibly thought about picking a fight, then settled back into a relaxed pose again.

"Jager," Ian told a buxom redhead as she made a sweep of their balcony. "Hey. Get the kid a glass of water." He shot a look at Castle. "Assuming he doesn't drink out of a bowl."

Castle chuckled genially and nodded at the red head, then ordered himself a bottle of wine that probably cost as much as a decent computer. As soon as she was gone, Castle gave Ian a flinty look that should have intimidated him but didn't.

"We'll just keep our business to ourselves, won't we?"

The red head was good. She returned in only moments and didn't make eye contact. Ian handed the water to the boy, who took it without saying a word or meeting his eyes, and looked at Castle. Castle nodded to him, and he drank a few swallows before setting the glass between his feet and resuming his patient crouching.

They drank and they chatted. Castle turned out to be a very wealthy businessman who collected rare art and required a lawyer on retainer. He showed interest in Ian's legal courses, joked about needing a powerful and authoritative guy like him. It was clear he was disparaging Ian, and it was clear that Ian wasn't going to take it. Ian answered that no matter how pleasant Castle made life for his pet, Ian wasn't interested in becoming one. They moved on to the area's nightlife and agreed that The Factory was the best of the bunch. The metal grille features and catwalks, with the muted neon lights, not to mention the skill level of its employees, all came together to make a cohesive near-perfection. Castle expressed curiosity that Ian's puritanical sensibilities allowed him to enjoy clubs.

The boy was becoming more interested. His head was raised, and his eyes moved back and forth between the two men as their banter took on a decidedly sharp edge. Ian was glad to see that the boy was capable of being interested in anything. He found himself playing with the boy's hair. He'd always annoyed his little sister by doing this to her hair. He'd never admit to missing Dovie, but here he was running his fingers through the boy's hair with a sense of comfort in the familiarity of it. He didn't know what the hell  _else_  to do with the kid, anyway.

The boy was leaning back into his touch, resting his back against Ian's leg. It was weird, it was like he actually thought of himself as an animal, as a pet. Or maybe he just liked Ian? He eventually picked up the glass of water and drank the rest of it, then his shoulders hunched like he was expecting to be struck for his daring. Ian just patted his head, thinking it would make the most sense to him, and the boy looked at him for the first time. Ian smiled at him to make sure the kid didn't think Ian was going to hit him, and the boy  _almost_  smiled back.

"Time's up," Castle said sharply.

"What time?" Ian replied.

"You've had your hour. What do you think?" Ian ran his hand over the boy's hair one more time to encourage him. When he turned back to Castle, his eyes were cold. "Now I hate it even more. You're a sick bastard, Castle. I don't care where you got him. If you've gotta shoot him up to make him stay, it doesn't matter."

Castle sneered. He snapped his fingers. Before he got up to move to Castle's side, the boy's hand closed around Ian's ankle and squeezed. Ian had no idea what it meant, but it was enough to know that the kid had a brain of his own still locked in there. Ian grabbed hold of the boy's arm to stop him, and Castle stood up, too. Ian gave him a smirking look and reattached the boy's leash, making Castle's tension ease just a bit. But when Ian leaned forward to snap the catch into place, he locked eyes with the boy.

His eyes were gray. Almost silver. Ian had never seen eyes that colour before.

"You don't want to go with him, do you?" he murmured.

The boy said nothing.

"If you don't want to go with him, then all you gotta do is nothing at all," Ian said.

"What are you doing?" Castle snapped, unable to hear Ian over the loud music. He snapped his fingers again. "Come here, my pet, it's time we were leaving."

Ian was still holding his eyes.

"Make a decision," Ian said, loudly enough that Castle could hear him. "I think what he's doing with you is wrong, and I'll stand by my opinion. But you decide. If you don't want to go with him, then don't."

The boy said nothing. His breathing was picking up speed.

Ian held the end of the leash out to Castle. The boy reached out his own hand for it, then wavered and jerked his hand back. Castle was astonished.

"What do you think you're doing?" he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don't forget what you'd be going back to,  _pet_. Is that what you want?"

Ian was still holding the leash. "What do you want, kid? Are you coming with me, or with him? All you need to know is that one of us won't make you wear this thing."

The boy's hand flashed up to his throat and he unhooked the leash. He took a step sideways, closer to Ian, as Castle took a disbelieving step forward.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"He's coming with me," Ian said, looking every inch the Prince now. "Thought that was obvious, Lars."

"How dare you interfere in my business," he hissed. "You will  _come here now_ ," he addressed the boy, who took another nervous step closer to Ian. Ian was shuffling himself in front of the boy, knowing that this would come to blows any moment. One good punch and the emaciated kid was done for, so Ian wasn't going to let him get involved.

Then Al Bolton ghosted in. Nobody saw him coming, he was just suddenly there, and he had three other large men with him.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

For Bolton to get personally involved could only mean that he considered both of them to be important guests in his club. But Ian knew without asking that Bolton would side with Castle if it came down to that. It wasn't even a question. Castle was an older, established man of wealth and a history with Bolton. Ian was just the son of a big-shot southern lawyer who was following in his old man's footsteps whenever he was sober enough.

So Ian didn't give him a chance to take sides. It would only provide a cue for any watchers who would side with Bolton.

Castle smiled, and gestured to the boy. "No, there's no pro—"

Ian had played football in high school. He knew how to throw his whole weight at something, and he chose that moment to throw it all behind his punch to Castle's gut. Castle went to his knees and vomited, while Ian was spinning around and dropping to one knee to throw one of Bolton's bodyguards over his shoulder. The other two were occupied with some of Ian's friends, who'd decided to give him their loyalty. Ian could have tried to fight with Bolton, could have tried to back up his friends, could have gone to his knees and apologized for making trouble.

But Ian chose the most expedient route. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and dragged him away. He wanted to run, but the boy was slow to respond and stumbled down the stairs behind him. Ian started looking for a quick way out where no one could see him to stop him. He felt bad for leaving the others behind, but getting the kid away from Castle was sort of the point, wasn't it? And he really didn't want to be the reason his father had to fly up here to negotiate with a criminal like Bolton.

He ducked into a serving area and tried to look for an escape route. Someone stepped in front of him. He started to lower his shoulder and power his way past them. Surprisingly, it was the kid who stopped him, grabbing a handful of his shirt and hauling back on it. Ian came to a stop, looked a little more closely, and realized he was looking at Angelica Bolton.

"Little girl, you're wrong if you think you can stop me. I ain't gonna hit you, but I'll sure as hell throw you over my shoulder and carry you until you're not a problem anymore."

"I bite," she said, baring her teeth in illustration. "But I'm not here to stop you."

"Oh, really? Even though your daddy is hot on my tail?"

"I despise Castle, and I despise that I have ever had to speak to him. You're right that he deserves better—whoever he is," she said, gesturing at the boy. Her disdain for him was obvious, since she didn't look directly at him. "So, come with me. There's a door through here, and no one will see you use it."

"I don't trust you, little girl."

"That's smart, but the door doesn't require your trust to exist, and it's this way. Let's go."

Ian followed her, prepared for anything. Well, anything but the door that she led him to, which was dark and abandoned and out which he walked without another soul the wiser. He really hadn't expected that she was telling the truth, somehow. Either way, it was only seconds before he was flagging down a cab and getting far away from both the Factory and Angelica.

"Well, this is some adventure you've got me into," he said to the kid jovially, thinking this might be a good time to start figuring out who he was.

The boy had pulled his feet up into the seat, wrapped his arms around his legs, and was trying to make himself a tiny ball of silence. He was clearly scared to death, his eyes darting wildly from Ian to the rapidly passing scenery.

"It's all right now," Ian said more gently.

The boy shook his head. "Are you taking me back?"

It was the first time he'd spoken.

"Back? Back to Castle? You think I'm returning you to the sick bastard, after I'm done with you or something? Huh? Why do you think I took you away?"

"I don't know," he answered in a small voice.

"Well, listen— hey, what's your name, kid?" It had suddenly dawned on him that "kid" and "pet" were not names he was interested in using.

"Whatever you want," the boy said, suddenly using those full lips that hadn't seen much action tonight. He was giving Ian an almost  _lush_  smile, the dirty kind. "That's what I'm for. To be whatever you want."

"You got a real name," Ian insisted. "The one you were born with. I want to use that one."

The smile disappeared, the boy hunched further in on himself, and he started looking out the window again. "I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Have a real name."

"Your momma didn't call you anything?"

"I don't remember. I haven't seen her in a long time."

"But you—"

"I don't  _remember_ ," the boy growled, and those gray eyes flashed a warning sign. His past, whatever it was, seemed to be off-limits as a conversation topic. Ian supposed it couldn't be anything good, since he hadn't seen his mother in so long he didn't remember her and since he'd ended up as the sexual fetish of a creepy businessman.

"All right!" Ian snapped. "Keep your hair on. Well, is there somewhere you want me to take you?"

"You don't get it," the boy said miserably. "I don't  _want_  things. I do what  _you_  want."

Ian could think of a lot of things to scream at the boy, like "That's bullshit" and "Where the hell did you come from?" and "Better start figuring out what you want, quick." But he couldn't think of anything to  _say_ , at least nothing particularly reassuring or helpful, so he clamped his mouth shut. He only opened it to order the cab driver to stop at a hotel and to speak to the desk clerk to check them in. It was a pretty scummy place, since it was the middle of the night, but that meant the clerk didn't ask questions. A nicer place, and the employee would have looked at the boy's age and clothing (or lack thereof—what the hell was with the bare feet?) and run for a manager.

The boy looked around, seeming amused by the dingy room Ian had gotten them.

"I didn't think you would have gone for this," he said—no,  _purred_. "You didn't seem like the cheap hotel room type."

"What are you talking about?" Ian asked wearily, sitting down on the edge of one of the two beds. He was only half-listening as he tried to think about what he was going to do. He had to figure out what to do with the kid.

It got kind of hard to make plans when he realized the kid was kneeling between his legs and sliding his fingers around Ian's belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" Ian yelped, jumping to his feet and reflexively taking a swing. The boy didn't even try to duck, catching Ian's hand on his temple and falling to all fours for a moment. Then he seemed to decide to stay on all fours, and looked up at Ian while utilizing his full lips again to uncomfortable effect. They were parted a little, indicating that he  _liked_ being struck on the head.

"Don't even give me that," Ian growled. "You didn't enjoy that at all. So knock it off. I didn't bring you here for that."

The boy pushed himself back to his knees. "Then why did you?"

"Because they all know who I am and they know where I live. If we went there tonight, Castle will just swing on by with a few buddies to take you back. Probably rough me up pretty good, which I ain't interested in. So for tonight, we're hiding out here. I gotta think."

"But . . . why?"

Ian stared at him. "No idea," he said finally. "You're just a kid and what Castle was doing to you wasn't right, that's all I know. Don't know why I had to be the one to help you out. Now, you answer me for real this time: is there somewhere I can take you?"

"Back to the man my master bought me from."

"Castle  _bought_  you? And screw this 'master' shit, he's not your damn master, you don't have a master, you got that? But he bought you. From whom?"

"From my pimp."

"You have a fucking pimp?"

"He owns me. He used to only sell me for a night, like he did with the girls, but Castle wanted to keep me, so he sold me to him."

"Holy bleeding fuck," Ian responded, then realized just how deeply he'd involved himself in this mess. If the kid had nowhere to go, and no name that he even knew, then it was up to Ian, wasn't it? He scrubbed his face in his hands. "Right. I'm taking a shower and going to sleep. I suggest you do the same. Whatever you do, don't leave this room, you hear me? You don't leave until I say you can." He'd probably take orders, since he was so interested in doing whatever Ian wanted. It was the only suggestion Ian had at the moment. "We'll figure all this out in the morning."

"Okay," the boy said, and stood up with Ian, following him toward the bathroom.

"Oh hell no," Ian snarled. "You take your own shower."

"Okay," the boy said serenely, and sat down cross-legged on the bed to wait.

When Ian emerged wearing nothing but a towel, the boy uncrossed his legs and looked prepared for anything.

"Oh, go take a shower and go to sleep," Ian growled at him. He put his underclothes back on and slid into one of the beds. After a few minutes, he felt the covers being pulled back, and he slapped the boy's hand. "You got your own bed, kid. You ain't sleeping in mine."

The boy drew back, looking genuinely confused. "But you haven't made one for me."

Ian squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. "That one right there," he said, pointing at the vacant bed.

"You don't want me to sleep on the floor?"

Ian counted to ten again. "No, I don't. For fuck's sake, just go to sleep. Wherever you feel the most comfortable, okay?"

"Really? Wherever I want?"

Ian hadn't expected the bright look that appeared on the kid's face at that. Really, when was the last time anyone had let him make even such a simple choice? Ian's anger was beginning to pass over into real pity, the more tired he got. So he made an effort at smiling.

"Yes. Really." If he wanted to sleep on the floor, so be it. "Wherever you want."

Ian counted to twenty through gritted teeth and inched himself over to the very edge of the bed as the boy climbed in beside him. "That is not what I meant," he mumbled, but he didn't think he was loud enough to be heard. He'd said "wherever" and he wasn't about to take away the first decision the kid had made on his own. "Just . . . Don't touch me, okay?"

"Okay," the boy said. Then he stiffened, and sat up again. "Oh.  _Oh_. You're one of those people. You think I'm disgusting. I thought you were . . . never mind." He got out of the bed and got in the other one. "I'm clean, you know," he said, turning his back to Ian and pulling the covers over himself.

"Hey!" Ian protested. "Don't go putting words in my mouth, understand? I wasn't trying to say anything! Forgive me for freaking out, but this  _is_  the first time I've shared a bed with a _guy_."

The boy suddenly turned around, and rather than being angry, he had a strange sly grin on his face. "You mean you're shy?"

"No— I— God, forget it. Go to sleep. I'm begging you. You look like shit, you need some sleep."

"Oh," he said, the smile falling. "I guess I need . . . Yeah. I'll sleep."

Thinking that was just a nice insane cap to the weirdest day he'd ever had, Ian firmly pulled the covers up and resolutely closed his eyes, thinking that tomorrow would be soon enough to figure all this out.

Half of this happened the way he wanted it to. In the morning, he knew what he needed to do, but that was because he'd never quite fallen asleep. The implications of where he was and what he was doing had struck him at about four o'clock in the morning, and he realized that he had only two real options. He sat up through the dawn, watching the boy sleep, and trying to decide which option he was going to take. Unfortunately, watching the boy's restless sleep didn't give him any clues. Ian was no closer to making a decision when the boy finally woke at nearly noon.

The boy was facing him when he blinked his way awake.

"Hey, there, Gray Eyes," Ian drawled. "Welcome back."

The boy gave him a befuddled look. He stretched, making a little keening noise as he did so. He sat up, pushing the covers aside.

"You want some coffee?" Ian had made a pot of the truly horrific brown water they called coffee, and he'd slurped down about half of it while waiting for the boy to wake up.

"Uh, sure," the boy answered in a rusty voice.

Ian handed him a cup.

"What did you call me?"

"Well, I'm not gonna call you 'pet,' so it's 'Gray Eyes' until I figure out your real name."

"Oh." He smiled as he raised the coffee to his lips, giving Ian a look that was hard to figure out. Ian struggled to interpret it, and realized that he was having trouble with it because the boy was acting so shy about it. But that sort of hesitation made sense, after what he'd been through. Either way, the boy had given him that smiling look with the shining eyes because he  _liked_  the name. He was happy, and it was real instead of an act.

He got restless as he worked his way through the awful coffee. He was fidgeting a lot. He did get up and go to the bathroom, but when he came back out, it didn't seem to have helped. Ian didn't say anything. He wanted the kid to speak for himself. Well, he wanted to see if the kid  _could_  speak for himself. It might help Ian make up his mind.

"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" the boy suddenly snarled at him.

"What?" Ian blinked.

"What do you want with me? What am I really doing here?"

"I don't know just yet, I really don't. I'm trying to figure out a way to help you, okay?"

"Well, while you're thinking about how to help me, is there something you want me to do for you?"

"Oh, god, not this again."

But the boy was setting the coffee cup aside, putting on a different face. "Whatever it is, just tell me. I don't know you yet, I don't know how to guess what you want. So please tell me."

"I don't want anything from you, kid."

The boy was on his knees in front of Ian again, and Ian tried to scramble backward.

"You really don't want anything?"

"No!"

"Then please," the boy moaned, putting his head down on the mattress, burying his face. "Please. If you're not holding it back until I serve you, can I have it now?"`

"What the fuck? Can you have what?"

"I'm begging you. I'm going crazy. Please just get it over with. I know it's stupid to beg, because I hate it, but I'm begging anyway. Just do it." He had raised his face, and now he was stretching out his arms toward Ian. Ian thought he was reaching out to grab him for a minute, then it hit him like a kick in the gut, and he was attacked by a wave of real sympathy.

His hand closed over the track marks on the boy's arm. "I'm not going to do that."

"You're not? But you have to," he panted, tears in his eyes.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. When I took you from Castle, I just took you. I didn't exactly wait around for all your toys."

"But you  _have_  to," he repeated. "It's not my fault, I didn't want to. Okay? I didn't want to, he made me, and now I can't help it. Please, please, please. You have to."

"I can't," Ian said as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, Gray Eyes." He thought maybe using the name that had made the kid so happy would help. It didn't. The kid crawled back into bed, curled up in a ball, and stayed that way. Ian went to his bed and sat down on it. "Hey. Kid. Come on, don't panic or anything. It can't be that bad."

He let out a wild giggle in response. "What do you know?"

"How long has it been like this? I mean, when did you start living with Castle? When did he start drugging you?"

The boy just kept rocking back and forth, and it was a minute before he answered. "I'm not sure. It's been a while. Months."

"Aw shit," Ian whispered. "Every day?"

"No, not every day. But a lot. He likes it when I have to ask for it. He likes it when I beg him. Is that what you like? I will, okay? Anything you want. Just please. Please."

Ian put his hand on the boy's shoulder to try to calm him down. "No. Sorry. But I can't and I won't, so you've gotta get through this. You're not going back to that kind of life, you hear me? You're gonna get through this."

"I can't."

"I'm gonna help. I promise. I'll help you."

There. Decision made. Ian made the kid drink some water while he called a cab. The cabbie was not pleased by his distraught passenger, and less so when Ian left the kid in the cab while he ran into the bank. But at least his forceful and magnetic personality made sure his business was concluded quickly, and he hurried back out to find the shocked cabbie staring at the kid's suffering. The boy was just sitting there, rubbing his hands furiously over his marked-up arms, while his face was becoming haggard and he was chewing his lip so hard that it was bleeding.

"Buddy, I don't like this," the cabbie said. "How about I just let you guys out right here, okay? I can't have this kind of shit in my cab, you know?"

"Shut up and drive," Ian said, reaching out to wipe the blood off the boy's chin. "Hey, stop that. Come on. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Man, I don't know—"

"I said drive."

"Where the fuck to?" the cabbie snapped.

"Nearest police station," Ian said grimly.

The boy jerked in surprise, turning to Ian and leaving off his frantic rubbing so that he could grab fistfuls of Ian's shirt.

"No. Don't do that. I don't . . ."

"Listen to me. I'm trying to be a lawyer, I know what happens to people who do dumb shit like keep this to themselves. No. It never works. We're going to the cops, and we're gonna be completely honest, you understand? You haven't done anything wrong, you're not going to be in trouble. Neither of us is gonna get busted for anything. I'm going to be up front, tell them I just met you last night and I got you away from that guy." Ian leaned in good and close to whisper the last bit. "We're gonna tell one lie. We're going to say we don't know his real name. Okay? He's probably got people, and if he doesn't, Bolton does. I don't want them coming after us. So we don't tell his real name."

"That isn't his real name," the boy said. "He only goes by Castle for this kind of stuff, for things like me. He has another name that's his business name. I don't know what it is."

"Oh. Then the whole truth it is."

"What are the police going to do with me?" the boy asked, still frightened.

"Hopefully they're going to tell us what your name is. We're gonna need it. I need to know all kinds of things about you that they'll have to figure out for us."

"Us? What do you mean? Why do you need to know?"

"So I can help you, Gray Eyes. You're just a kid. You need a place to live, you need to go to school. I can't do that for you if I don't have some kind of name and social security number to go by."

"What?"

"I've been thinking about this all night, kid. I had two choices. I could dump you at the police station without letting them see me, and I wash my hands of the whole thing. Or I help you. I didn't know which one I was gonna do until you started begging me for drugs. I can't just hand you over like that. I don't know if I can fix you, but at least I got the time to try. They're so overrun with everyone else's fucking problems, and they'll lose you somewhere. So I'm making you my problem."

The boy was back to rubbing his arms, and his eyes were closed. He started gnawing at his lip again, and Ian was helpless to stop him from doing it, short of holding him down and physically keeping his lips away from his teeth. And that would really give the kid the wrong idea about all this.

"I don't understand," he whispered. Then he started saying it over and over. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't—"

"Me, either, kid, but you're making  _me_  need a hit, just watching you.  _Stop_  that." He held the boy's wrists tight, which only worked until the kid started banging his head against the back of seat.

"Hey, we're here!" the cabbie announced in enormous relief.

Ian tossed some money at him, probably too much, and helped the kid get out. They went inside. They told their story. They told it over and over again. And each time, Ian repeated what he wanted: to find out who the kid belonged to, so Ian could take him away from them. He wanted to know the boy's name, so he had something to write down when he became his legal guardian. They were enormously suspicious of this. It turned into a fiasco. Ian had to call the family's lawyer.

Daddy was not happy. Daddy was especially not happy about Ian's plans to take a semester off, starting that very day. Daddy threatened to cut him off. Ian did not particularly give a shit. Ian had just emptied out his rather impressive bank account, and Daddy could feel free to shut it down now that there was nothing in it.

In the end, Ian's father sent a junior partner from his firm, who stormed in like the harbinger of litigation doom, demanded to know why they hadn't fed the poor pathetic starving boy, and he got Ian what he wanted. He also handed him a receipt revealing that his father had dumped some more money in Ian's account, but made it clear that he had one semester. One. After that he was to get back to Yale and buckle down to his studies, or this was the last thing he'd be getting from Daddy.

"Agreed," Ian said, crumpling the slip of paper and tossing it away.

The kid spent two weeks in rehab while Ian spent two weeks looking for a small apartment and moving himself out of college housing. Rehab was supposed to take longer, but he turned up one night and said he didn't want to go back, so Ian didn't make him. He showed him to his room and watched his fitful sleep and hoped he'd done the right thing.

The next year of his life was mostly utter hell, with a few bright spots. They found the kid's pimp, found out that he was also the kid's mother's pimp, and that he'd all but owned the boy since he was a small child. They found out that he'd never officially been born, having been delivered in a bathtub. He had no birth certificate and no records. His mother had called him Bastard, the pimp had called him whatever name he thought would appeal to the boy's customers, and then Castle had mostly just called him Pet.

When it came time to make him an official human being, he took the name Gray.

He was fifteen, near as they could tell, but he was so fucked up from the drugs that trying to put him in school was pointless. He could read and write, and his pimp had gotten some crazy idea in his head about what the customers might like, so he could also spout huge blocks of poetry. But his ability to focus was shot to hell and his short term memory was shit. Ian took it upon himself to teach him. There was a lot of shouting and fighting and sometimes running away but always coming back in a day or so. Gray worked his ass off to learn, but his frustration over his traitorous brain made it a violent process.

It took him two years to earn him GED. When he got the certificate at seventeen, he cried in Ian's arms out of sheer relief.

He needed some help to become a normal person, and they both knew it. But after two successive therapists were unable to understand the kid, Ian stopped trying that method and enrolled Gray at a local judo school. And since Gray was too neurotic to do that on his own, Ian enrolled himself as well. They found that letting off their steam in a controlled fight was far superior to shouting at one another and slamming doors. The constant tension they carried on their shoulders seemed to work its way out during their lessons, and the anger that was forever bubbling under the surface in both of them was let out in weekly doses.

Besides, finding something Gray did so effortlessly was its own reward.

After that first year, Ian finally spoke to his father and heard the demand that he return to Yale. Ian thought about it. He still had a year and a half of law school left. It was a demanding course of study. It was a constant thing, hardly enough time to eat or sleep, much less time for anything else. He would end up spending nights in the school library. And since Gray was studying for his GED and studying for a driver's license, he needed a lot of help. Leaving him alone all the time, as Ian would have to if he went back to school, was out of the question. Learning judo might be helping Gray put his demons behind him, but he wasn't even close to being well. He had a long way to go.

So Ian said no.

Daddy was furious, as expected. He threatened and argued and wheedled.

Ian still said he wasn't going back.

And as expected, the money stopped coming. Ian didn't care. His father had now successfully alienated both of his children. But that got Ian to thinking about his baby sister. Dovie hadn't taken well to it when their father had interfered in her life. The old man had used the accident she got in as his golden opportunity to get rid of the inappropriate boyfriend. Alex was from the wrong side of the tracks, and he wasn't good enough for her, supposedly. So Daddy told Alex that Dovie died in the accident and ran him out of town. It had been wrong, and cruel, and Dovie had left home and never returned.

Since helping people was going so well for him, Ian decided it was past time he helped his own sister. He flew to California to help her look for Alex. He and Daddy stopped fighting then, because it was hard to fight with someone you weren't speaking to.

 

* * *

 

 

_February 16_ _th_

Ian woke up early and rolled over, feeling very uncomfortable. It took him a minute to remember that he was sleeping on Alex and Dovie's pull-out bed rather than his own, and he found himself reflecting on his reasons for being here. And how it had come to this. From that moment in that club, to this moment in his sister's living room.

He stretched his arms over his head as he stumbled to the front door to grab the morning paper. A quick look at the news and a cup of coffee were just the thing to get his mind off the things that were troubling him. Like how he hadn't spoken to his father in two years. But what did it matter, if Gray was stable and Dovie was happy?

Perhaps it was only because he was reminiscing over his recent history that he wasn't surprised, upon opening the door, to find Gray sitting on the front steps. After all, Gray had followed him last time he'd gone to visit Dovie, too. Not that Dovie knew that.

"Morning, Gray Eyes," Ian said slowly, trying to think. His voice always got thicker when he'd been talking to his sister, and he sounded like a certified hick today. "What're you doing here?" He sat down on the step beside the young man, deciding to hold off on his anger for now.

Gray shrugged, his eyes on the rising sun instead of Ian. "I'm not sure."

"Hope you don't want to kill my sister this time."

"Not so much," Gray said restlessly. He rubbed the skin on the inside of his arms. The marks had long since disappeared, but it was still a nervous habit of his.

"You got a job at the bakery you ought to be at. Brian said he'd keep an eye on you."

Gray nodded. "Yeah. But he said I was too short-tempered when you aren't around, so he told me to take a few days off."

"And life is just so boring without me, is that it?" Ian drawled.

Gray's jaw clenched, and he rubbed his arms again. "I didn't . . . I thought it was . . . Look, we were fighting when you left, and I didn't know if you were coming back this time. I didn't want the last thing I ever said to you to be something angry. I came because I wanted to stop fighting."

"Gray. You followed me out here to apologize?" Ian said in amusement.

"Only if you do!" he snapped, and put a sharp elbow in Ian's gut.

Well, he tried to. Ian moved his own arm in time to block the blow. Gray shoved away from him, striding restlessly into the dew-wet yard and looking up at him from there. He looked impatient and upset and utterly uncertain. He always looked like that when he started thinking that Ian didn't have any reason to be so committed to him. He got himself in these states where he was convinced Ian was going to dump him off on some corner and drive away.

And there was probably a few hurt feelings, too . . .

"Hey, listen. I do need to apologize," Ian said. "I didn't even stick around for your birthday. I'm sorry."

They'd probably made it too early by a few months, but they'd picked the day they'd met as Gray's birthday. Three years ago, now. He had turned eighteen while Ian had been hiding out with Alex and Dovie.

"You ought to be," Gray said stubbornly. Ian was going to have to try harder if he wanted some forgiveness. In all honesty, Gray didn't have much to apologize for, not this time. No, this was Ian's screw-up, as they always seemed to be.

"Look, we both got pretty hot over the whole thing, and I needed some time to think. That's why I came out here. Okay? I just came to think it all over. I wasn't just taking off. You know I wouldn't do that. Even if that  _is_  what you want me to do."

Gray scowled at him. "All I said was that it's about time for you to think about going back to school. You're the one who made it this issue about abandoning me or something. I'm eighteen, Ian. If you're going to become a lawyer, now's the time."

"I know. That's what I've been thinking about. But you can't blame me for getting upset about it, can you? You've been waiting for me to just dump you and walk away for three years, and you not having any faith in me is starting to get real old. When you started telling me I should just leave you, I didn't like it."

"So you got all pissed off and did it anyway," Gray sighed, rolling his eyes. "And I'm supposed to be the brain-damaged one. But it's like I said. This isn't about me. It's about you. Seriously, Ian, is it a crime that I want to start putting your needs ahead of mine?"

"No," Ian said. He really  _had_  found this to be a good place to think. "No, it actually makes me pretty happy. I think you're finally getting the hang of this."

"You do?" Gray seemed surprised. "But I still screw things up all the time."

"Yeah, well, so does everybody else," Ian grinned, and came down to the yard and threw his arm over Gray's shoulders. "I never have quite figured out just what in the hell you are to me, you know? So it freaks me out sometimes that you care about me as much as I do about you. Go easy on me, I screw up at least as much as you do."

"You got that right," Gray snorted, trying to shove Ian's arm off him. Ian locked his arm in place and wouldn't let him.

"Hey, I'm trying to bond with you, here. Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere," Gray said, and then he just wilted. It was such a random change that for a moment Ian was dumbfounded. Gray just let his shoulders slump and his face droop. "It's not like I have anywhere to go," he mumbled, and turned his face into Ian's shoulder.

"Hey. Don't be like that."

"Sorry." He continued pressing his face into Ian, letting himself be drawn in against the older man. "I messed up your whole life, and I can't do any of this without you. I'm sorry."

"Stop that," Ian said, bringing up his free hand to stroke the golden hair that was tickling his neck. "You didn't mess up anything, all right? Far as I'm concerned, my life for the past three years has been perfect."

Gray inhaled deeply, then turned his face slightly to the side, inhaled again.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked, slightly amused.

"Smelling you," Gray mumbled.

Ian barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Smell—"

Gray jerked back so suddenly that Ian couldn't stop him. He took a step away, and his face was bright red.

"Uh . . . I didn't mean to. I won't. Do it again, that is. Sorry."

"Right, well, don't worry about it," Ian responded in confusion.  _Smelling_  him? Whatever in hell for? "Anyway, come on. We got to celebrate your eighteenth birthday somehow. We'll make Dovie cook breakfast for starters."

"Um, how much does she know about me?"

"She don't," Ian said gently. "Didn't want to tell her about you when you were so busy hating her."

"Oh. Maybe I shouldn't come in. God, I knew it, I knew you didn't want anyone to know about me. I'm going home, okay? I'll—"

"Shut your mouth and get up those stairs. Go on. Dovie will be pissed at me for not telling her sooner, but she'll cook  _you_  breakfast, anyway." Ian put his arm over Gray's shoulders again. He chuckled, even though there was little humour in the sound. "Funny. You're legal, now."

"Yeah, it's hilarious," Gray said grumpily. "So I was an underage whore, so rub it in."

"You never were," Ian said soberly. "You have to be able to  _decide_  to be a whore. All you were was a scared kid. So don't be talking that kind of crap, you hear me?"

Gray nodded, relaxing into Ian's arm for a moment. "You don't have to be this good to me," he said, his voice very quiet. "You could have asked me for anything after you took me away from them. You don't have to keep treating me this well."

"I don't  _have_  to do anything," Ian said quietly. "I just want to."

"It's been three years. I still don't know why."

"Neither do I."

"Can you  _try_  to tell me? Please?"

"I don't have anything to say that doesn't sound stupid."

"I don't care."

"Well, it was just . . . Back when we met, that first night, in the club. You just looked at me. You didn't ask for help. You wanted it, but you didn't know how to ask. It was like as soon as I met eyes with you, I heard what you couldn't say, and knew I was the only one who could hear it. Seems like I knew right then that I was the only one who was  _ever_  gonna hear it. I knew you needed me."

"But you still could have walked away."

"Not really. I mean, the option was there, I suppose. But when I saw you at that hotel, scratching your arms up and all . . . No. I couldn't have walked away after that."

"Not even now?"

"Now? I don't even want to, anymore. Don't know what I'd do with myself if I wasn't looking out for you."

"That was kind of the point of all this, wasn't it? That I'm of legal age, that I've got a GED and a car and a job. You wanted to make it so I didn't need anyone to look out for me."

"I know. Doesn't mean I don't want to keep doing it. Besides, you're the one who just said you can't do it without me."

"I know," Gray said, and he closed his eyes while he said it, sounding frustrated and tired.

Their heads were so close together that when Ian tried to look over Gray, all he could see was his face. He was sorta pretty, for a boy. But that was to be expected, given his previous occupation. His golden hair was always disordered, because he probably forgot to comb it. When his eyes were open, they snapped with energy.

He probably  _was_  frustrated and tired. Ian's fault, again. He couldn't figure out why he wanted Gray around, so he was always leaving the kid hanging. Gray was awfully screwed-up in the head, it was true, but there was really only one thing he could possibly mean by smelling Ian's skin. Ian just kept making him wait around for an answer. All he really knew was that he _did_  want Gray around, because the lean young man leaning against him was always going to need him in one way or another. He'd made his decision three years ago, and all this arguing and going off in a huff to sleep on his sister's couch wasn't going to change that.

He didn't even know that he moved. He just blinked and realized he'd put both of his arms around the younger man and that his cheek was resting on Gray's hair. He could feel Gray breathing against his neck, his whole body tense and ready to break away from Ian to run.

"What are you doing?" Gray whispered.

"Nothing. Just didn't really know what to say." Ian turned his head to press his lips into Gray's hair. "Actions speak louder than words, my Mama always used to tell me." He let Gray go, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him inside. "Now come on, I'm hungry and Dovie makes great pancakes."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see a graphic illustration/short manga for the scene of the snowball fight, please visit konnichupuu.deviantart.com, where you can see not only this illustration but many wonderful pieces of fanart and original work by a talented, lovely person!


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